


greetings from stardust

by hippieluna



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged Up, Best Friends to Lovers, Bottom Eddie, California, College AU, Gay Eddie, Gay Richie, I Want That Twink Obliterated, M/M, Road Trip, Skinny Dipping, Slow Burn, Smut, Summer, Top Richie, Vegas, Vomit, Yearning, bed sharing, bev is in two scenes and stan is in one, cool rich artist aunts, eddie thinks he’s way cooler than he is probably, he’s mostly just a soft grunge doofus who likes band tees, i can’t think of anything else to tag, if u consider 52k slow, in case someone has a phobia of it, kinda?? college hasn’t quite started yet, like copious amounts of yearning and pining and wistful glances, mixtapes, read it and find out ;))), richie is like... lowkey punk... just lowkey tho, thanks for that glorious tag amber, the others are barely in this at all like rly just mentioned, they’re like 18 or 19 in this idk which it doesn’t matter, water being symbolism for love and all things being connected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23366437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hippieluna/pseuds/hippieluna
Summary: A few days ago just an ounce of Richie's attention was almost too much to bear. Now, he feels engulfed in it — hot tickling flames that spread from his chest to his fingers when their wrists touch between the seats of the car. It hurts when Richie looks at him and it hurts when he looks away. Funny how much clearer things get when there aren't any distractions.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 144
Kudos: 457
Collections: Rare Reddie Collections





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rainbowsandgucci](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowsandgucci/gifts).



> a few months ago amber was like “hey you know what i’d love? 10k of summer pining where eddie thinks richie is leaving for college but richie is actually trying to figure out how to ask him to go with him” and i was like “done, also it’s a road trip au, also it’s 52k” so. that happened. hope you enjoyyyyyy bc i enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> thank you to amber for the prompt and help with mixtapes, as well as myles, eline, leonie, and winnie, for giving me advice and encouragement and enough validation to keep me motivated writing this. love you guys xo
> 
> (my tumblr is @hippieluna and i love getting asks)

The thing is, Eddie hadn’t thought about it until he saw the letter. 

Sure, maybe it was in the back of his head somewhere; logically he _knew_ that they’d all grow up and eventually move away. Hell, they constantly talked about moving away, but usually in a more fanciful sense — throwing all their shit into the back of Richie’s car and leaving in the middle of the night, never to be seen again. That unrealistic kind of daydreaming that made nothing seem real, that always had Eddie ignoring reality, because in his version they all stayed together forever. 

He and Richie stayed together forever. 

The actual thing is, Eddie can’t picture a world in which they don’t. He hasn’t tried and he doesn’t want to and it just doesn’t make _sense_. Richie is a constant — all the losers are, his life revolves around them and they’re at the top of his list of priorities. Well. The losers are at the top, and Richie... Richie is at the very top of that.

Which is why seeing a college admission letter on the ground, half-hidden under a pair of jeans, feels like everything screeching to a halt. One little domino falling over and causing a chain reaction until eventually, inevitably, all of him will be scattered pieces on the ground. Because this letter is for Richie. Because this means Richie got into college, somewhere that’s not here, which was always the plan and Eddie shouldn’t be surprised, but that means Richie is _leaving_. Finally, after talking about it for years, Richie will leave. He’ll drive away, car packed with everything he’ll need for a new life, and that will not include Eddie. 

He takes a step back, frame unfreezing and thoughts running through his head quicker than he can process them. He puts a hand on Richie’s desk to steady himself and seriously thinks about reaching for his inhaler. 

“Eds?” Richie asks from behind him, having reentered the room at just the perfect fucking moment. It’s not like Eddie’s world is crashing down around him or anything. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Eddie lies. He’s glad his voice doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels. Or maybe it does, he can’t really tell. “I just, um. Feel like I’m getting an allergy attack, or something. Did you bring any weird plants into your room recently?” 

Smooth. 

“Is this your way of asking if I have weed?” Richie asks, smirk evident in his voice. 

“ _No_ ,” Eddie wheezes. “I just — I feel a bit lightheaded, and my eyes itch, and if my throat starts to close up I’m fucking blaming you because —“ 

“Hey,” Richie’s hand closes around his wrist, and Eddie can already feel his pulse slowing. “You’re fine. You don’t have allergies.”

“I am allergic to penicillin!” Eddie squeaks, still unable to tear his eyes away from the paper. 

Richie tugs on him. “Okay,” he says. “Well I don’t have any penicillin in here, so.”

Eddie lets himself go easily this time, allowing Richie to pull him away from the desk and over to the bed, where he has an assortment of junk food spread out. “Penicillin is a strain of mold, actually, so it’s possible there’s mold in your wall of a similar kind that’s causing my —“ 

“Eds, you’re _fine_.” Richie repeats. 

_He couldn’t be more wrong_ , Eddie thinks. 

He hands him a box of girl scout cookies, thin mints, and Eddie takes them just to do something with his hands, but he’s not hungry. Not even a little bit. 

“If mom’s gonna try and make everyone go on a diet with her,” Richie is saying, somewhere far away to Eddie’s brain currently, “the least she could do is hide the good stuff somewhere better than on top of the refrigerator. How short does she think I am? That may have worked when I was twelve, but I’m taller than her now —“

Santa Cruz. That’s where the letter came from. Richie is moving across the fucking country to go to The University of California, three _thousand_ miles away, and there’s nothing Eddie can do about it. 

  
  


The next two weeks are spent in bitter denial. He doesn’t think about Richie leaving — he _can’t_ , because if he does he’ll do something stupid like cry. Richie is here right now and that’s what matters. 

They’re in the clubhouse one hot July afternoon, just Eddie and Bev and Ben. Eddie has taken up his spot in the hammock, prepared to fight Richie to stay in when he arrives. His time will have long since ended but that doesn’t matter. The other two won’t call him out on it when Richie clambers in with him and Eddie makes no attempt to move. 

“Where is everybody?” Eddie asks suddenly. He’s been swinging idly for too long and it’s starting to make him sick, so he sticks one foot out to steady himself on the ground. 

Bev looks up from where she’s reading. 

“Stan has family visiting today, Mike has chores, Bill has tutoring.”

“And Richie?” 

Her expression is unreadable. “He just said he had some stuff to do and probably won’t show up until later, if at all.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. His eyes are stinging and he doesn’t know why. 

Ben and Bev share a look. “He didn’t tell you?” she asks. 

Eddie feels a laugh bubble out of him, and he kicks his foot, sending the hammock swinging once again. “No,” he says. “Apparently he doesn’t tell me things anymore! Apparently he just likes to leave without saying anything, like it’s no big deal at all, because he’s right I guess it shouldn’t be a big deal I mean he can do whatever he wants I’m not gonna stop him and it’s not like I could even if I tried because —“

“Eddie!” Bev slaps her book closed, effectively stopping his downward spiral into gibberish. She unfolds her legs and leans forward on them, brow pinched as she tries to figure out what just happened. Eddie isn’t sure he knows either. 

“Whatever,” he says before she can ask. 

“What’s going on?” she asks anyway. 

“Nothing,” he says. “Forget it.” 

Bev says nothing, but her and Ben share another look. He’s getting a little tired of people doing that whenever he mentions Richie. He feels extra sick now, and he has a sneaking suspicion it’s not just from the hammock — the hammock which feels suspiciously empty now. A lot of things are going to feel empty soon, he thinks. 

Luckily Mike arrives a moment later, and Eddie is saved from coming up with any more explanation. 

That doesn’t mean Bev lets it go, though — every so often she’ll look over to where Eddie sits alone in the hammock, periodically making it swing and then getting frustrated when he remembers it makes him sick. No one tries to take the spot from him, whether on purpose or because they just don’t want to sit there, he doesn’t know. 

When Richie drops unexpectedly through the trapdoor a few hours later, Eddie just about cries with happiness. He doesn’t, though. Instead he shouts, “Took ya long enough, asshole.” and Richie grins, already headed towards him. 

“My turn,” he says. 

Before Eddie can protest, come up with some excuse why he can’t get up, Richie jumps into the hammock, landing practically on top of him. They sway wildly, almost dumping themselves onto the ground. Richie is half standing up, turning in circles to find a comfortable spot like a puppy, and Eddie shrieks and clings desperately to the fabric. Finally Richie plops down heavily across from him. His legs stick out at weird angles by Eddie’s head, he’s slumped down so his neck is bent dramatically. He looks ridiculously uncomfortable.

“Jesus, you dick, you nearly killed me!” Eddie gasps stupidly, because he always says stupid things when Richie is around. 

Richie just laughs, shuffling up to get more situated — this time with his leg pressed firmly against Eddie’s. 

And it’s — it’s nice. More than nice, actually. Eddie is half smushed into rough canvas with a stupid lanky boy nearly crushing him and he can’t imagine being more comfortable. He doesn’t ask where Richie was or what he was doing, part of him thinks maybe he doesn’t want to know. 

And if he feels Bev’s eyes on him, he chooses to ignore it. 

  
  


After the third week, Eddie can no longer pretend he isn’t thinking about it. How could he not? Every time Richie smiles at him, or teases him, or touches his arm, Eddie wonders how many moments like this he has left. And he knows that he’ll see Richie again, they won’t be saying goodbye forever; but it won’t be the same. Sometimes Eddie thinks the only reason Richie gives him so much attention is because there isn’t anyone else around so desperate for it. Once there are other options — and there will be, it hurts Eddie’s stomach to think about but they’re gonna love him over there — he won’t think about Eddie as much. He might not even think about him at all. 

The thought makes Eddie want to throw up a little bit. 

But maybe the most infuriating part of all, is that Richie hasn’t said a word. Never mind telling Eddie about applying in the first place. He feels hurt, and he tries not to, but it’s impossible. The topic of college comes up three times in casual conversation; each time Eddie glanced at Richie in the hopes that he’d take the opportunity to share. At least then it wouldn’t feel like a secret sitting heavy in his throat. But he never does. 

Fine. Fine. Richie wants to pretend this isn’t happening? He can do that. It will be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do but he can, he will, Eddie should think he’s gotten pretty damn good at being in denial, thank you very much. They’ll continue being clingy best friends who fight at every turn, and Eddie will pretend that it doesn’t ache every time Richie flips him off with a grin. He’s been doing it long enough. What’s a little extra added pain?

He starts to have fun again. Compartmentalizing is what he’s best at, after all, next to being prepared for any kind of injury and of course, always knowing when Richie is lying. 

“Fuck _off_ ,” Eddie yells at him. “You absolutely did not do three flips.”

“I did!” Richie insists, that shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “You just weren’t looking!”

_I’m always looking, actually, so I know you’re lying._

“Stan! Stan was looking, he was already down there, and Bill too!” Eddie turns to face his friends, hair still dripping from their last flying leap off a cliff. 

“He’s right,” Stan says, arms crossed. “You twisted once in the air like a demented rag doll and then narrowly missed a belly flop.”

“Oh fuck you,” Richie retorts easily. “I did it the other day too, you guys weren’t here.”

Stan snorts. “ _You_ were by yourself? You survived for over an hour without attention?”

Richie’s face softens into a pleasant grin, and oh no, here it comes —

“No, of course not. I was with Eddie’s mom.”

“Shut the fuck _up_ , Trashmouth!” Eddie shouts, shoving his shoulder. For a second Richie pretends to teeter, like he might fall off the edge, and then he doubles over with laughter. Despite being a legal adult, he still acts like a child. 

“Hey idiots!” Bev shouts from below. Her red hair floats around her in the water like a devilish halo. “Is anyone coming in or are you all too chicken to jump suddenly?”

Ben is the first to scurry past, landing with a huge splash that makes Bev laugh and cheer. Next is Bill, hollering all the way down and almost landing on Mike, who yelps and ducks underwater. 

The rock is hot under Eddie’s feet. It makes him dance around a little, which prompts Richie to wrinkle his nose and say, “If you have to piss, Eds, don’t do it while I’m next to you.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” Richie blows a kiss. 

Eddie doesn’t answer. 

“Right,” Stan steps past them to the edge, looking down at the others. They look so tiny from way up here. Like little toy people in a bathtub. He turns back to look at Richie and Eddie once more, “Don’t kill each other,” he says, “or anything else up here, we can still see you.”

Before Eddie has a chance to ask what _anything else_ means, Stan plugs his nose and jumps. 

It takes a little while to hear the splash. Maybe Eddie is more aware of it when it’s quiet, which it rarely is. He’s done this a hundred times before. He’s absolutely not scared. 

“After you,” Richie says, bowing and extending an arm. 

Eddie doesn’t answer. His eyes are still on the water. 

“Hey, Eds....” 

Eddie looks up at him, heart hammering in his chest. Is it now? Will Richie finally tell him what he already knows? Up here on a cliff, grass rustling in the hot wind all around them, alone but not really alone. 

Richie steps closer, and then closer again. He looks almost nervous. Eddie feels a little bit lightheaded. Richie bites his lip, reaching out, and Eddie is so distracted he doesn’t anticipate Richie shoving at his chest. He flails backwards, screaming bloody murder, absolutely certain he’s about to fall to his death. His eyes are shut tight, stomach in his throat before —

Richie catches his arms in a split second, giggling. Both of Eddie’s feet are once again planted firmly on the ground. 

“Fuck _you_ that was _so_ not funny!” Eddie shouts at him, hands balled up into fists, repeatedly colliding with Richie’s chest and arms and anything else he can reach. His heart is still beating dangerously fast. 

Still laughing, Richie grabs his hands mid-punch, pulling him closer, much to Eddie’s dismay. “Aw I couldn’t help it!” he says. “You’re so goddamn cute when you’re scared shitless. I would _never_ let you actually fall.”

Eddie is wrapped up into a hug before he knows what’s happening, and then he’s scowling and squirming and letting out a string of curse words against Richie’s warm shoulder. He tries desperately not to melt into it like he so wants to. 

“Not _cute_ ,” he insists, finally breaking free. “You absolute pain in my neck, Richie Tozier.”

Richie just pinches his cheek, smile unwavering. “Cute, cute, cute!” he says. 

Whatever. Eddie is already a little sunburned, this blush will go unnoticed. 

“Come on,” Richie’s voice softens a fraction as he reaches down and takes Eddie’s hand. He threads their fingers together and grins. Eddie can feel the heat of his palm, too hot in the thick summer air. “Let’s make a splash that gets them wetter than —“ 

“Rich, I’m begging you to not finish that sentence. Besides, they’re already wet, they’re in the wA —“ 

Eddie is quite suddenly being dragged towards the edge at full speed. Rocks and dry grass hit his feet, scratchy and sharp. He feels Richie squeeze his hand and squeezes back even harder. And then they’re flying, weightless, and falling, down, down, still gripping each other tight, until they crash into the cool water below. 

Everything is blue and blurry and Richie’s hair in his face and Richie’s legs kicking his as they struggle to the surface. Eddie immediately climbs onto Richie’s back, shaking his head and coughing. The adrenaline is still coursing through him. The others are whooping and yelling and Richie is laughing and for a blissful moment, everything is perfect. 

  
  


Later they’re on the floor in Richie’s bedroom, on top of an old green sleeping bag. It’s supposed to be a makeshift bed for when Eddie sleeps over, but it’s really more for appearances sake, since he’s never once actually slept there. It just makes more sense to make the bed so when Richie’s mom passes by the door to say goodnight, she’ll see the two of them with their own respective spaces, instead of two clingy boys that always end up closer than they should be. Plus, it’s fun to have a cozy spot on the floor to read comics — which is what they’re doing now, Richie sprawled on his stomach with his knees bent and his feet in the air, Eddie sitting crosslegged beside him. His fingers pick at the carpet absently and he watches over Richie’s shoulder as Richie tells the story — not the actual, written story, but the one he thinks makes more sense with the pictures. 

“ _Lois, are you sure?_ , Clark asks, _abso-fucking-lutely Stud, I want you to take me right here on this desk._ So Clark rips open his shirt to reveal the Superman suit underneath, because Lois is into that kinda stuff and definitely wants him to keep it on. He’s about to rip her blouse open when Lex Luthor crashes through the window, _don’t tell me you were about to start without me!_ , he cries —“

“Richie, please, this is so unrealistic.” Eddie cuts in. “Clark Kent would never have a threesome with Lex Luthor.”

Richie turns back to look at him, glasses making his incredulous expression a little more bug-eyed. “What!? Don’t tell me you think ol’ Clarky here doesn’t have sexual tension with like, every single other character. He tears his clothes off constantly for a reason, Edwardo. That ain’t no accident.” 

“He does,” Eddie agrees. He leans down to rest his chin in his hand and his elbow on his knee, eyes moving back to the page where Superman is busting through his shirt with what looks to be a mid-orgasmic expression. “I just think he’d be way more into Batman. Plus Lex is like, creepy, and bald.”

A loud laugh rips through Richie. “You’re so right,” he says. “Batman has even _more_ horny energy than Superman, plus he probably has a sex dungeon in the batcave where he does stuff with Robin.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, though he can’t help but smile. He also can’t help but imagine what Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent might get up to in their free time...

As if reading his mind, Richie asks, “Who do you think is hotter? Like, besides Lois obviously.”

Eddie doesn’t think that Lois is the obvious answer at all, but he contemplates it before saying, “Hm. Well, Bruce Wayne’s got the edginess factor... but Clark’s got that classic look with the dark hair and glasses...”

"You like that, huh?" Richie smirks.

Eddie rolls his eyes and flushes. "Oh shut the fuck up,"

Richie just grins at him in that annoying way Eddie has grown so accustomed to. "So is that who you choose?"

"Well, I mean, Batman has a cooler wardrobe though... are we bringing personality into this?"

“Dude, just pick one.”

“Batman! No — no no, Superman. Yeah. What about you?”

Richie grins impishly, like he always does before he says something that will make Eddie hit him. “Robin,” he says. 

Already regretting it, Eddie asks, “Why?”

“Because he wears those little shorts that are basically just underwear — he’s essentially half naked at all times. Saves time and all.”

Eddie groans through a laugh, but gives Richie a disappointed head shake just for good measure. 

They spend the next half hour the same way they spent the last two; making up stories for comic characters that always get derailed by something ridiculous, usually courtesy of Richie, until they’re talking about something totally off-topic from where they started. It’s _fun_ , because everything is fun with Richie. Agreeing with him and being rewarded with that fond, private smile, like Eddie understands him more than anyone in the world; disagreeing with him, and getting hit in the face with a pillow, sometimes getting wrestled and pinned to the floor. Eddie especially likes that. 

They can go for hours and never run out of topics, never run out of jokes, never run out of energy for each other. It’s thrilling and exciting and so easy, and it’s been this way since they were kids. Eddie wonders if all people feel like this when they spend a night with their best friend. Realistically, he knows they probably do. Deep down, he thinks maybe no one has ever felt like this with anyone. 

At some point, though, the energy seems to have all but left his body, and he finds himself slumping forward. He shifts so he’s leaning back against the foot of the bed instead. 

“Rich, it’s like, two in the morning.” he breaks to yawn — totally unscripted — and frowns. “Don’t you think we should sleep?”

At that Richie springs up and leaps onto the bed, mattress springs creaking beneath him. He lies flat on his back on top of mussed blankets. “Goodnight,” he says, and promptly closes his eyes, leaving the other boy to stare uninterrupted for a moment. 

Richie has grown into his looks over the summer. They all have, in some ways, and Eddie had always found his friend to be attractive even when others didn't. But there's something extra now. A new sort of confidence, maybe, that gives him that bit of edge, pulls the whole thing together. Eddie looks at all of him — dark, unruly curls splayed onto the pillow, a shocking contrast to pale skin, a long nose and a mouth that’s too big for his face. The way it quirks up to match the raise of his eyebrow. Thin arms fold over an old grey band shirt, and his long body continues down until it stops at two giant klutzy feet. He looks like a collage, maybe; an assortment of features that shouldn’t go well together but do. But art isn’t supposed to be perfect, it’s supposed to make you _feel_ something. 

He’s made Eddie feel everything from here to the moon. 

He thinks he could look at him forever and never get bored. 

He doesn’t get the chance though, because Richie pops one eye open. 

“Are you coming?” he asks. “It’s beddy-bye time. Beddy for Spaghetti.”

Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” he says, but he’s already crawling towards him, only pausing briefly to switch off the lamp. 

Richie lifts one arm for Eddie to slot himself up next to him, and as soon as he does that arm comes down to pull him in closer. Richie hums contently, and Eddie tries not to shiver when he feels the vibration against him. They haven’t pulled up the blankets but Eddie is plenty warm already. 

“This bed is so tiny,” Richie remarks. 

_I love this tiny bed_ , Eddie thinks, but he says, “That’s why I made a spot on the floor.”

Richie _hmphs_ behind him. “Are you saving you’d rather sleep on the _floor_ than with me?” he asks, sounding pouty. 

Eddie can feel his heart beating. With the way Richie is holding him, he can probably feel it too. “Oh, I dunno,” he says, “wake up with a sore back or be suffocated in my sleep? Tough call.”

“Eds! You wound me!” Richie cries — too loud for the time it is, Eddie thinks. The arm that was around him flies up, the back of his hand dropping to his forehead in a distressed maiden kind of way. “Truly, I did nothing to deserve this, nothing at all, and I’m hurt that you —“

“Jesus christ,” Eddie pulls his arm back down around him. “Are you happy now? Can I please get some sleep?” 

Richie snuggles closer, smiling against him, and oh, god, Eddie can feel his lips on his neck. “I am happy now,” he says. His voice is light and sweet, like a kid who’s just gotten exactly what he wanted. “Nighty night.”

Eddie sighs, relaxing into him. He’s smiling to himself, like some kind of loon, but Richie can’t see him so it’s okay. “Goodnight, Rich.” 

Richie’s bony knees are molded against the back of his, chest following the curve of his spine. One of his too-big hands sandwiches Eddie’s own against the sheets. It’s cramped, but it’s not uncomfortable, and slowly but surely Richie’s breathing evens out into small puffs against his neck. 

Eddie doesn’t know how he’ll ever live without this. He falls asleep so he doesn’t have to wonder.


	2. Chapter 2

At first, it’s barely noticeable. Richie is late here and there, he skips out on a few plans with no explanation other than he was “busy”, whatever that means. Well. Barely noticeable to everyone who isn’t Eddie. But then he stops giving an explanation at all. Stops calling to say he’ll be late. It’s like he suddenly has a separate life, one that doesn’t include the losers, one that doesn’t include _Eddie_ , and it’s — it’s _unfair_ , because he should at least have until the end of summer. He should at least have until Richie is _gone_ for him to be gone.

Maybe it’ll be easier this way. Maybe Richie is trying to soften the blow by leaving gradually instead of all at once. Or maybe he’s already so sick of them, so eager for a new life, that he’s started already, right here in Derry.

“That’s crap and you know it,” Bev tells him when he expresses these concerns — briefly, she doesn’t need to know all the angsty details. Although Eddie gets the feeling she already knows what’s going through his head.

“But what if —“

“But _nothing_ ,” she insists. “He loves us. He loves you. You know that. He’s probably just... busy, I dunno.” she shrugs.

Eddie slumps back against the tree he’s sitting under. Bev is laying on a picnic blanket nearby with a stack of magazines, flicking through them with little interest. The others have all left for dinner already, save for Richie who hadn’t shown to begin with, and Eddie decided he wanted to prolong going home as long as possible; sensing he wanted some company, Bev stayed too. So here they sit, limbs heavy in the late summer heat, listening to the cicadas in the trees.

“He’s never been too busy for us before,” Eddie says quietly.

Bev sighs and gets up, dropping her magazine, and plants herself down next to Eddie. He’s hugging his knees, resting his chin atop them and looking absolutely miserable.

“You mean he’s never been too busy for _you_ before,” she says.

Eddie doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.

The grass is warm and tickles their toes when the wind blows. Bev lets the silence continue for a moment, watching a deer in the distance as it noses around some flowers.

“I just wanted the summer,” Eddie says. “If I have to say goodbye to him at the end of it... the least he could do is let me _have_ it. The least he could do is fucking tell me where he’s going. If I hadn’t seen that stupid letter I wouldn’t even know — what, was he just gonna leave without ever saying a thing? Pack his bags and disappear forever?”

He picks up an acorn and chucks it as hard as he can.

Bev doesn’t really know what to say. It _is_ weird that Richie hasn’t said anything, that he keeps disappearing in the afternoons and not saying why. She doesn’t blame Eddie for being upset.

“I’m sorry,” she says earnestly. “He’s just... being a dumb boy. My magazine says they’re not worth it.” She grins and bumps Eddie’s shoulder, but he barely manages a smile.

“Nothin’ new there,” he says with a kind of resigned sigh. Then adds, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I know,” Bev says, putting a hand on his knee. Eddie lets his head drop to her shoulder. In moments like this, without the others around, it’s easy to allow themselves to be more affectionate. It’s not that the others aren’t — they’ve all cuddled before. But they don’t find the need to bicker for fun the way they do as a larger group. Eddie loves it.

“Just... not in the same way you’ll miss Richie.” she says.

Eddie closes his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do.”

He takes in a slow, deep breath through his nose, then lets it out the same way. “Yeah, fine.” he says. “I do.”

Bev pats his knee. “He’ll miss you just as much,” she says. “And you have to talk to him.”

“No. I want him to talk to me.”

“Eddie,” she shakes his leg a little. “Babe, you can’t _both_ be stupid.”

“I can and I will. Try and stop me, Beverly Marsh.”

She just laughs. It’s a lot softer than the way Richie laughs. The sound gets carried away in the wind, a part of Derry forever, even after she’s gone. Eddie hopes he’ll be able to hear it when he’s sitting out here alone. God knows he’ll have no trouble hearing Richie’s.

  
  


Plan _stupid and not caring_ seems to work for a little while. Eddie avoids Richie the same way Richie is seemingly avoiding him. He tries to not think about it every waking minute of the day, which is fucking _excruciating_ , but he’s nothing if not stubborn so he sticks it out.

For a week. A miserable, lonely, stupid week. He doesn’t beg for Richie’s attention at every opportunity, he acts like he doesn’t care when Richie isn’t there — when Richie _is_ there and Eddie finds him sitting in the hammock already, he sits on a chair instead. He pretends not to notice the confused and slightly offended look Richie gives him. Instead he stares at the cover of one of Bev’s magazines and thinks about a _dumb boy_ who is _absolutely worth it_.

Practicing a life without Richie is enough to kill him, Eddie thinks. The real thing will for sure.

  
  


Sunday afternoon, Eddie is biking home from the clubhouse when he hears a familiar shout of his name. He sighs and breaks once, slowly rolling along with one foot dragging on the pavement, until Richie catches up with him. He’s all long limbs and floppy hair, shirt too big and smile too wide.

“Hey, where ya goin’ Eds?” he asks.

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie responds with absolutely no fire beneath his words. “I’m going home, I guess.”

He doesn’t know why he adds the last part. Maybe he’s not as sure anymore.

“Wanna get ice cream with me first?” Richie asks.

Eddie has never denied him anything before.

“Sure,” he says.

“Hop off,”

Eddie blinks. Does Richie want him to leave his bike here? The ice cream shop is still five blocks away.

“Come on,” he says. “Hop off.”

Eddie does as he’s told, because he doesn’t have a good enough reason not to, and Richie immediately takes the handles from him. He climbs onto the seat Eddie was just sitting on, and says, “Now hop back on.”

“What?”

“Get on the _handlebars_ , Spaghetti.” Richie grins at him. “Let’s go get ice cream.”

Eddie hesitates only a second before he’s stepping closer to the bike again, a wary expression on despite having done this a hundred times throughout their youth. Each time goes down just the same.

“This is, like, really fucking dangerous, Rich. What if you crash? I’ll go tumbling off onto the pavement and break my face and you’ll be to blame.” Eddie complains even as he braces a foot on the middle and hoists himself up, wobbling as he throws his legs over the handlebars and settles himself in a weird slumped position. This was a lot easier when he was smaller.

Richie laughs. He’s keeping the bike steady and guiding Eddie with one hand hovering by his back. He’s barely touching him, but Eddie can still feel it. “I won’t let you fall,” he says. “Remember?”

They’re flying down the street, it feels like, but maybe that’s just from Eddie’s precarious perspective. The trees and houses around them aren’t moving exponentially fast but the tire underneath him seems to smoke on the pavement. That may just be from the weight of two full grown people, though (despite Richie’s constant claims that Eddie isn’t quite there yet). The sun is in his eyes and the sky barrels into him, stealing the breath from his lungs, and he can feel every pebble they bounce over, and he trusts Richie with his life — probably a dumb decision, but a decision that was made long before he climbed onto this bike.

“DON’T CRASH!” Eddie screams over the wind in his face.

“Hey, have I ever crashed before?” Richie sounds suave from behind Eddie’s shoulder, but Eddie knows better than that.

“FUCKIN’ _YEAH_ , LOADS OF TIMES!”

Richie just cackles again, pressing his nose for just a second against Eddie's shoulder blade.

The quiet town seems too small for them even now. For Richie, anyway. But Eddie suspects that the feelings threatening to burst out of him are of an unbeatable size, so it makes him qualify, too. The only sound on the street is that of tires whirring on blacktop and Richie’s gleeful holler. The houses, very much lived in, feel abandoned in comparison to this bike; so full, so lively. Eddie feels, once again, weightless.

Until they’re skidding and falling, sideways, down, crashing (thankfully) onto soft grass. Richie had turned the first corner to the ice cream shop and the weight proved to be too much for the little bike to handle, so into the landscaping they spilled. Eddie isn’t hurt, not really, but he still groans.

“What did I fucking _say_??” he cries.

Richie rolls over until he’s practically crushing the other boy into the dirt.

“Hey, hey! I can’t breathe, you dick!” Eddie wheezes. His voice is an octave or two higher than usual. “Don’t suffocate me!”

Richie pulls back with a grin. He looks Eddie over for a second. “Cute,” he says as he stands up, brushing himself off.

“ _Not_ ,” Eddie insists for the millionth time.

He lets Richie pull him up — it’s the least he can do for crashing them in the first place — and they head inside, scraped knees and dirty hands and chests full of wind.

Eddie orders their ice cream; vanilla for him, pistachio for Richie. A terribly odd flavour in Eddie’s opinion, almost any other option would’ve been better, but Richie likes it. They sit on the bench outside, under a little bit of shade, and eat in quiet for a few minutes.

Everything feels sleepy and content. The breeze, the way Richie swings his ankle so their feet bounce together. Just like that a week of practicing is out the window, and Eddie forgets entirely what a world without Richie could possibly feel like.

“Hey, Eds?” Richie asks, breaking the silence.

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie mumbles on impulse. And then, “what is it?”

The hesitation that follows makes Eddie uncomfortable. He looks up at Richie, which is probably a mistake because as soon as he does he can’t break away, and Richie has this _look_ on his face — a little unsure, a little nervous.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks. “Like, not the way I always piss you off, but actually mad at me?”

This, Eddie did not expect. He blinks once, twice, mouth opening and closing again. His brows pinch. _Is_ he mad at Richie? He’s frustrated, sure. He feels a little forgotten, and it sits heavy in the pit of his stomach. But _mad_?

“No,” he says.

Richie nods, eyes ahead as he licks his ice cream. “Okay,” he says. “So why are you avoiding me then?”

Eddie makes a strangled sound. “I — _you’re_ avoiding _me_ ,” he says, too loud.

“I’m _not_ ,” Richie turns towards him. A couple walk past holding a baby, quieting them briefly, and then they’re totally alone again. He finishes his cone in one bite and brushes his hands off on his jeans. “I told you, I’ve been busy.”

Okay, now Eddie is a little mad.

“ _Actually_ , you didn’t tell me shit. Everything I know I heard from Bev or saw in your room.”

Richie quirks an eyebrow. “Wha —“

“And besides,” Eddie continues. He still has a good amount of his ice cream left, and it’s starting to drip onto his hand, which he _hates_. He busies himself with wiping it up with a napkin so he doesn’t have to look Richie in the eyes. “I didn’t think you’d care if I started doing things on my own, since that’s what you’re doing now.”

“Eds, please, you’re misunderstanding,” Richie sounds a little desperate now. “I was — I got a job, okay? Cleaning up at the salon in the afternoons. Believe me, I’d rather be spending all my time with you guys, but I needed the money and I knew if I told you you’d ask a bunch of questions and I wasn’t ready to answer them,”

Eddie’s stomach drops. Oh. Right. Richie is moving, he’ll need money to take care of himself.

“I see,” Eddie says, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

Richie puffs out a breath. “So, um... what are you doing at the end of summer?”

Eddie almost drops his ice cream. “Are — are you fucking _kidding_ me? What am I doing at the end of — what are _you_ doing?” he thinks he might be a little red in the face.

Richie, annoyingly calm, just says, “Are you gonna do that every time I ask you a question?”

Eddie needs to lie down.

“Anyway,” Richie continues. “I was just asking because, well... I got into a school.”

“I know,” Eddie says.

“You — you do?”

“I saw the letter in your room.” Eddie’s chest feels tight. “That day I said I was having an allergy attack and you said something stupid about weed.”

Realization dawns on Richie then, and a look of horror crosses his face. “Eddie — that was _ages_ ago. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Why didn’t _you_?”

“Because, I... I was waiting for the right moment.”

Eddie tosses the last of his cone in the trash and then closes his eyes, leaning back against the bench. “Whatever,” he says.

“Eds, please,” Richie says again, resting a hand on his leg. Eddie can feel it burning through his skin. “Don’t be mad at me.”

Eddie has to admit he makes a convincing argument when he uses that soft voice. He opens his eyes to see Richie staring back at him, looking nervous again.

“Okay,” Eddie says. He wants to hate himself for how easily he gives in, but what he wants _more_ is to make that look go away, make Richie feel happy and confident again. Confident that Eddie will always be on his side no matter how hurt he gets. It’s his own damn fault, anyway.

Richie smiles and squeezes his leg. “Okay.”

“Okay,”

Richie wets his lips with his tongue. Eddie’s eyes track the movement against his will. “So,” he starts again. “I guess I should explain.”

“That’d be nice,”

Richie grins. His hand is still on Eddie’s leg. “First, tell me if you have plans for the end of summer.”

“No,” Eddie says. “I would’ve told you already.”

That may have been a little unnecessary, but Richie’s face falls only for a second, so Eddie doesn’t feel too guilty.

“Okay,” Richie takes a deep breath. “So I got into the University Of California, in Santa Cruz. You know that. My aunt Beatrice lives there — remember her? She visited for Christmas two years ago, she’s the one who brought that really expensive wine that we stole and finished that night, and then she caught us but told everyone that she finished it herself?”

Eddie does remember. He remembers sitting on the cold linoleum with Richie late at night, tipsy and giggling into his warm shoulder. He remembers Beatrice flipping the light switch and standing there with one hand on her hip, an amused and knowing expression on her face. He remembers the wink she gave him when she said she’d keep their little secret, and Eddie had gotten the feeling she meant something bigger than the alcohol.

“Yeah,” he says. “I like her, she’s cool.”

“Yeah,” Richie grins. “She is. So anyway, she has that really nice house out there in Santa Cruz, and the top level was turned into an apartment — it has a kitchen and its own entrance with like these outdoor stairs, and she said I could live there while I’m going to school.”

Eddie doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods, tight lipped and eyes wandering so they don’t have to settle on Richie’s.

“And I... I mean, if you want. It would be fun, and like, I dunno you could get a job or go to school or whatever you wanted. And it would be rent free which would be awesome and you'd be able to get outta here sooner, and I’ve been saving so you wouldn’t even have to worry about anything for a little while. And I wouldn’t — I wouldn’t be alone, or, y’know, she’d be there so I wouldn’t be technically alone anyway, but it’s different because you’re — it’s just different, you know?”

Eddie’s head is spinning. He wonders if this is how the others feel when he starts talking too fast and saying too much. “Richie... what are you saying?”

He finally looks up to meet Richie’s eyes. They’re wide and full, hopeful and determined despite the way he still chews his lip.

“Do you wanna come with me?” he asks.

Something breaks free inside Eddie, but not quite what he was expecting. Instead of scattered dominoes he feels like a balloon popped in his chest and now he’s full of helium, heating him up from the inside and threatening to carry him away. Richie wants him to _go_ . Richie wants him to be a part of his new life in some way. Richie wants him, still, maybe not in the same way Eddie wants Richie but he _wants_ him and that’s enough, it’s more than enough.

“Really?” he asks, lightheaded and lightvoiced from the helium inside him.

Richie nods eagerly. “Yeah! Yeah it would be like, y’know like I always said. How one day we’d run away from this hellhole. Except this time I’d have money, and we’d know where we were going, and I know you’re probably thinking of all the things that could go wrong but I think you should hear me out first because I’ve —“

“Richie,” Eddie interrupts him. “I wanna go.”

Richie’s face breaks into the most radiant smile Eddie has ever seen. His chest aches with it, the way Richie’s grip tightens on his leg, the way his eyes squint under his glasses. “You do?” he asks.

“Yeah,” now it’s Eddie’s turn to nod, almost frantically, sitting up straighter. “I really, really do.” He clears his throat a little then, realizing how desperate he sounds. “I hate this place,” he adds with a grin.

“Me too,” Richie grins back. “Let’s get out of here, then.”

“Let’s get out of here.” Eddie repeats.

They’re really leaving. Together. In just a few weeks they’ll be three _thousand_ miles away from this little town; a town where they’ve been bullied, hated, told they’ll never make it out of. A town they’ve felt rejected by for years, a town they’ve been just _itching_ to escape their whole lives it feels like.

Richie gives him the softest smile. His eyes crinkle a bit at the corners, fingers still holding onto him. Eddie doesn’t say it, but he knows that if Richie asked him to, he’d stay here forever.  
Luckily that won’t be necessary.

  
  


The next two weeks are a complete 180 from the beginning of summer. Eddie feels bouncy, full of excited energy. When Richie makes a dumb joke, ruffling his hair, Eddie can’t hold back a grin when he tells him to fuck off.

He doesn’t have to learn to live without Richie. Soon he’ll be _actually living with_ Richie. The thought is enough to give him butterflies; stupid, embarrassing, scrubbing a hand over his face to hide his blush even though Richie isn’t even here, butterflies. It’s pathetic, really. Eddie can’t find it in himself to care.

Bev had grinned and pinched his cheek when she found out. “Aw, look at you two,” she’d said. “Soon you’ll be married.”

Eddie told her to shut up to cover up the sudden swoop in his stomach.

“I’m happy for you,” she added seriously. “This makes sense — you two. You’re supposed to stay together.”

And, well — Eddie had to agree.

“He’s gonna drive me fucking crazy,” he replied, and she laughed.

_He already drives me fucking crazy._

  
  


Saying goodbye to the other losers was hard. A little tearful, too, though they’d never admit it. Eddie isn’t too worried though, he knows they’ll come back to each other.

It’s Saturday evening now, the sky is purple and the cooling air smells like sweet grass, and they’re almost fully packed. Actually, _Richie_ is almost fully packed. Eddie finished two days ago and is now leaning against the warm metal of Richie’s car, impatiently making checks on a mental list as he goes over everything they’ll need. When Richie finally emerges from the house, he has just one suitcase.

“Are you serious? That’s all you’re bringing?” Eddie asks in disbelief. He himself had already stuffed two suitcases, a backpack, bathroom bag, and a box into the trunk. Plus a hypoallergenic pillow tied up in a garbage bag, to take into motels.

“Of course not,” Richie scoffs. “I also have a stack of mixtapes in the glovebox and two Cokes in the cupholders.”

Eddie folds his arms. “I don’t even drink Coke,” he says, just to be difficult. “It has too much caffeine.”

“I know,” Richie grins and tosses his suitcase in with a _thunk_. “That's why I brought two Cokes for me to stay awake while driving, and two lemonades for you.”

Eddie unfolds his arms. “Oh,” he says. “Okay. Thanks.”

“No problem, Spaghetti. Now — are you ready to ditch this place forever?” Richie opens the passenger door and tips an imaginary cap, and Eddie. Eddie has never been more ready in his life.

He climbs into the car and Richie slams the door, making the whole thing shake. Then he gets in on the driver’s side and starts the engine. It makes a small clicking sound, Eddie notices, but does his best to put it out of his mind. Nothing is stopping them now.

“Sayonara, house!” Richie yells as they pull out of the driveway. Eddie rolls down the window so they can wave at Richie’s parents, who are standing in the open door blowing kisses. Eddie thinks he’ll miss them a lot more than he’ll miss his own mother. Richie shouts goodbye to them too, and Eddie does the same, and then they’re gone.

The sun is setting. They leave the windows down, feel the breeze on their arms. Fireflies wink and blink all around. Eddie has never really appreciated just how pretty a summer evening in Derry can really be, until now, as it moves to the rearview mirror. He won’t miss it for a second.

“Hey, Eds, open the glovebox will ya? Grab the tape that says _Leaving_.”

“Shit,” Eddie says as he pulls it out — it’s sitting right on top of a giant stack. “How many mixtapes did you _make_?”

Richie grins over at him. His hair is flapping around his face, glasses reflecting the colours of the sunset. “Ohohoho, Eddie, _babe_. You have no fucking idea.”

Eddie puts in the cassette and 1979 by The Smashing Pumpkins fills the car. Richie immediately starts singing along, and Eddie smiles to himself, thinking, _this is it_.

They turn onto the freeway. A sign reading, _Now Leaving Derry, Maine. Come Back Soon!_ approaches fast. Eddie leans out his window and shouts at the top of his lungs, “FUCK YOU, DERRY! DON’T COUNT ON IT!”

Richie tips his head back and laughs wildly. “Atta’ boy!” He shouts back. “Fuckin’ tell ‘em!”

Eddie laughs too. He feels light — he feels like he could do anything. He’s flying down the freeway with his best friend beside him, grinning over at him proudly, and they’re gonna be _okay_. More than okay, maybe. They could be fucking fantastic if they wanted. No one could stop them.

Richie turns the music all the way up, yelling along to the lyrics. The whole dashboard rattles with each beat. He reaches over and pushes at Eddie’s shoulder affectionately, keeping his fingers locked on him, massaging the spot a little as he drives with one hand. He keeps his eyes on the road but Eddie can see the crinkles at the corner, behind his frames, knows they’re smiling for him. For them. For the fact that they _did_ it. They really actually did it.

Eddie leans back in his seat and closes his eyes, a smile plastered on his face. Richie’s hand stays on his shoulder for a lot longer than necessary. Eddie tries to stay really still just in case any movement reminds him that he could be driving with both hands, but if Richie remembers he doesn’t care.

They drive for what feels like ten hours, but checking the clock Eddie realises it’s only been three. The sky is a deep indigo now with silver stars splashed across it like a painting. The seat feels warm, old leather giving way to the shape of his body. Head lolled to the side and staring out the window, his mind wanders briefly to Van Gogh, how it must have felt to be standing out in a field, easel in front of him and that brilliant night sky above him. He wonders if he felt as peaceful as Eddie does now. The music has gotten a bit quieter — Richie had a mixtape titled _First Late Night_ that now supplies them with some mellow Fleetwood Mac.

At some point Richie had gotten tired of talking and they’ve been driving in silence for the last twenty minutes or so. It’s nice, though. Eddie’s eyelids feel incredibly heavy. He blinks, turning his head the other way to stare at Richie instead now. The other boy continues to watch the road, humming along, but the corner of his mouth quirks up like he can feel Eddie watching.

“Tired, Spaghetti?” Richie asks softly.

“Mm,” Eddie stretches a little bit, shifting to get more comfortable. “Are we — are we stopping soon?” he asks. In hindsight they probably should’ve left in the morning so they could make it further.

“Nope,” Richie says.

Eddie frowns. “What?”

“I’m driving all night,” Richie glances over at him. “That’s why I got the Cokes to keep me awake. I figured you’d fall asleep and when you woke up we’d be much further away.”

“You — are you sure? Won’t you get tired eventually? That's really not safe, Rich. You know, driving sleepy is worse than driving drunk, I heard, or at least it’s probably the same.”

Richie just shrugs. “I’ll be fine. This wouldn’t be my first all-nighter, I can tell ya that. Besides, I’m not tired at all.” He smiles at Eddie's frown. “It's fine. Really. I'll pull over if I can't handle it, promise. Sleep, Eds."

Eddie wants to argue more but he finds his eyes closing without him telling them to. He curls up in the seat, kicking off his shoes and tucking his socked feet underneath him. The movement of the car paired with the sound of Richie humming along with Stevie Nicks has him asleep in seconds.


	3. Chapter 3

The first half of the next day is spent as expected; chatting about nonsense, listening to Day 2 mixtapes, and marveling at how, despite the views out the window being incredibly similar to Maine still, it feels worlds away. They stop at a grocery store for breakfast and freshen up in the restroom, and then they're back on the road.

They make it to Ohio before the anxiety starts to set in. Eddie had reached for his allergy pills (you never know what new kinds of trees they have here) that he _thought_ he'd stored up front, but found rather quickly that he'd been wrong in that assumption.

"Relax," Richie says. "You just packed them in your suitcase."

"How do you _know_?" Eddie snaps back, clearly distressed. His brow is pinched so tightly it's giving him a headache. 

" _Because_ ," Richie insists. "I know _you_. And you would never go off without them. Besides, you don't need them."

"But —"

"Not right now, Eddie. You're in the car, okay? Windows are up, AC is on, you're fine. I promise. You can look for them when we stop."

Realistically, Eddie knows he's right. His eyes don't itch, his sinuses don't feel like they're closing up, it's just. They're comforting to have. But so is Richie. 

"What if I don't have them, though?" He continues anyway. And then he starts to think about what _else_ he might not have, everything he might have forgotten back in Derry, and suddenly his chest feels tight. "What if — what if I don't have my inhaler? What if I forgot my toothbrush, or, or —"

" _Eddie_ , babe, take a breath." Richie says, and Eddie does, but it doesn't help much. "Look, I'll buy you whatever you forgot when we get there, okay?"

"Richie, you have, like, barely enough money to get us there in the first place." Eddie says with a roll of his eyes. 

Richie chuckles. "Alright, jeez, I'll steal it for ya."

When Eddie doesn't say anything, Richie reaches over to rub at his shoulder again. His fingers dig into the muscle in a way that makes Eddie's eyelids heavy, the panic in his chest subsiding just a little. His thumb brushes the side of Eddie's neck, just for a second, and a small shiver runs through him. Hopefully Richie doesn't notice.

"Hey," Richie says. "Grab the mixtape on the left side — yeah, that one there."

"Why the fuck is it called _garlic bread_?" Eddie asks.

Richie grins at him. "Just put it on, okay?"

Eddie does, and immediately Freddie Mercury's melodic voice fills the car. He finds himself humming along to Somebody To Love as Richie continues to massage his shoulder, and despite the fact that there are a million things to panic about, he can feel himself calming down. Whether from the music or the touch, he doesn't know. Maybe both. 

Still, when Eddie starts, it's hard for him to stop. In a last attempt to worry, he says with a small voice, "Are't you afraid you forgot something important?"

"Eddie, Eddie, Eddie..." Richie's smile is softer now when he glances over. "I've got everything I need. You, good music, and the open road."

Eddie snorts. "Fuckin' cheesy," he mumbles, but his whole body feels warm. 

  
  


They drive until the sun hangs low and Richie's exhaustion seems to catch up with him. Eddie can see the way his eyes strain, the way he keeps sighing, so he turns down the music and says, "Hey Rich, I think we should stop."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes," Eddie says firmly. "You haven't eaten enough, you haven't slept in like 30 hours — it's not healthy! You could get into an accident, or, or just get sick. I mean even if you weren't driving it wouldn't be good for you, you know, your body will start to shut down and —"

"Okay," Richie says, before Eddie can shift into hyper-speed. 

"Okay?"

"Yeah, we can stop here. I was gonna keep going for a bit, but. I like when you worry about me." He smirks.

Eddie shakes his head. "Oh, is that why you make such stupid decisions all the time?"

Richie laughs. "Maybe it is," he says. "Or maybe I'm just a dumbass, Eds, the world may never know."

"Don't call me that," he says, and he can hear the fondness in his own voice.

"You love it," Richie replies easily.

He pulls into the parking lot of an old diner, complete with a blue neon sign reading, _Melvin's_. Inside the floors are checkerboard, and a jukebox sits against one wall. A woman named Alice seats them in a booth by the window. 

"So," Richie says, munching on fries, four at a time. They sit across from each other, and Richie's long legs put his feet right against Eddie's. 

"So," Eddie takes his time dipping his fries one by one in ranch. 

"What are you gonna do once we get there?"

Honestly, Eddie hasn't thought about it. It's completely unlike him — usually he thinks and plans and decides everything he can and then does it all again. Leaving Derry with Richie... it's the least amount of thinking he's ever done. Even now, when he thinks about it with Richie watching him expectantly, he doesn't have a clue. It scares him a little. Less than it should, though. 

"I dunno. Get a job, I guess." He says, "Maybe... work towards taking classes somewhere?"

Richie raises both his eyebrows. "You don't — you don't have a plan?"

Eddie shrugs. "My plan was to follow you."

The smile Richie gives him feels far too intimate. It makes Eddie nervous, but also like he wants to drown in it. 

"Everything good, boys?" Alice, who's just appeared beside the table, asks. 

Richie doesn't take his eyes off of Eddie. "Everything is excellent," he says. "Can we get two milkshakes? One mint chip, one strawberry." 

"Sure thing, I'll be right back with those."

"Thank you," Eddie says.

Sweet Child 'O Mine plays softly in the background, mixing with the clinking of forks and glasses. There's not many people in the diner; a few older couples, a family with two young children, and them. They stick out against the retro feel of the restaurant; Richie in his black skinny jeans that he insists make him look like a rockstar, Def Leppard shirt, and black sunglasses stuck atop his wild curls, Eddie in his little red shorts and giant Niagara Falls shirt that makes it look like he's not wearing shorts at all. 

Richie smirks and bumps Eddie's foot with his. "It's gonna be great," he says. "I'll only be in classes four days a week, and not for the whole day, so while I'm gone you could... I dunno, get a job somewhere you like. Somewhere quiet — maybe you could work at the bookstore on campus or something!"

He seems so excited about the idea it makes Eddie's heart flip over in his chest.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, that's an idea — I'll look into it."

"If you had an earlier shift, I could meet you for lunch."

Eddie pushes his plate away so he no longer has to smell the pickles he pulled off of his burger. Richie snatches them up and drops them into his mouth, leaning back with one foot up on the bench and a hand behind his head like someone is feeding him grapes. He looks obscene. 

"I'm sure you'll wanna eat lunch with your new friends," Eddie says.

Richie makes a spitting sound. "Not if I can eat lunch with you. Besides, who will eat your pickles if I'm not there?”

Eddie doesn't have a good comeback for that.

Alice sets their milkshakes in front of them, mint chip for Richie, strawberry for Eddie.

Suddenly, Eddie realizes something. "Richie," he says. "Did I — Have I told you that I'm proud of you? For getting in, I mean. Because I am. Really."

Richie looks down his glass, smile a little sheepish. "Thanks, Eds."

"I should've said it before," Eddie continues. "I just... I was afraid you were gonna leave me behind. Which is selfish I know, but." he shrugs. 

Richie downs a quarter of his shake in one solid suck, dark hair hanging around his face. "Are you kidding?" he says. "Where would I be without my Spaghetti?"

Eddie grins and dips a fry into his. He watches Richie bob his head to the music, curls falling into his eyes, only parting from his milkshake to sing along. _Oh, sweet child 'o mine, oh, sweet love of mine._

"Ah, _fuck_! Brain freeze," 

Eddie laughs, kicking him under the table and shushing him. 

They finish their shakes (Richie much faster than Eddie), and then head over to the closest motel they can find. It's small and dingy, the vacancy sign flickers and Eddie doesn't even want to think about what could be in the mattresses, so he doesn't. Instead he replaces the pillow with his own and keeps his socks on. He also finds his allergy pills and inhaler in his bathroom bag, just like Richie said he would, but he doesn't hear an _I told you so_. Tomorrow he'll keep them up front just in case. There are two beds, obviously, they couldn't very well book a room with one even if they're used to sharing. When Eddie had claimed the bed closest to the bathroom he almost expected Richie to set his stuff there as well. But he didn't. That's fine. Richie likes to be by the air conditioning, anyway, and they don't _have_ to share.

"Okay, I'm going to the pool." Richie says, emerging from the bathroom in his swim trunks.

Eddie stops flipping through channels and looks at him. "I thought we stopped driving so you could go to sleep at a decent time," he says.

"Relax, _mom_ ," Richie grins. "It'll just be a quick dip and then we'll go to bed. Come on."

"I'm not swimming," Eddie says. "I've already pulled back the covers and everything, I'm settled."

"I know, but I'll need someone to talk to." Richie holds the door open. "Come on Eddie Spaghetti, come keep me company."

Eddie rolls his eyes and gives a quick huff. " _Richie_ ," he whines. 

" _Eddie_ ," Richie mimics. He doesn't say anything else. He knows it'll only take a second for Eddie to give in and follow him.

He's right, of course.

The pool is outside, surrounded by a metal fence but otherwise in the middle of a parking lot. It glows blue to match the blinking vacancy sign and the neon _Melvin's_ just across the street. They're the only two out. 

Eddie sits on the edge next to Richie’s glasses, hugging his knees, and watches Richie swim back and forth, limbs like a jellyfish. When he pops up out of the water, his hair is completely covering his face. He pushes it back with both hands. For the last ten minutes or so Eddie had been rambling about whatever came to mind, and Richie had listened and responded while he swam, and Eddie loved it because he always loves talking to Richie. But often he finds that the quiet is nice too. When he's allowed to just watch, because there's nothing else to look at down here and Richie doesn't mind. Richie swims up to him now, placing his hands on the ground on either side of Eddie. 

"Sleepy?" he asks. 

Eddie nods. "A little," he says. "Shouldn't you be?"

Richie hums. "Water feels so good though," he says. "Not too cold, not too hot." He floats onto his back, watching Eddie through half lidded eyes. It always makes Eddie feel squirmy when Richie looks at him like that. 

"That's good," he says, just to say something. 

"Come in with me," 

"What?" Eddie scoffs. "Richie, please, I'm not even wearing a swimsuit."

Richie laughs the way he always does when Eddie's voice goes squeaky. "So what?"

"So — so — you can't just _do_ that,"

Richie rolls his eyes and swims forward again. "You can do anything you want, Eds," he says.

"You know I hate it when you call me that," Eddie says. He's stalling.

Richie grins and holds out his hands. Eddie takes them before he can think better of it. Immediately he's pulled off the ledge and into the deep end with a yelp, without even taking off his shirt first, and then Richie is pulling him easily through the cool water.

“I’m blind in the dark without my glasses. Can’t see you unless you’re close,” he says. 

Eddie clings to him and lets himself be lead around the pool, Richie smiling and still humming the song from the diner. It’s entirely unnecessary since Eddie has known how to swim since he was a little kid, but, well. It’s nicer this way. 

Eventually Richie slows down so they're floating leisurely, but Eddie still hangs on, now with his hands on Richie's shoulders, Richie's arm around his waist. His skin feels soft and warm in the water. They're much closer now than they were before. Eddie can see the faint freckles on his nose and the droplets of water on his eyelashes, the greenish reflection rippling across his face. He only lets his eyes wander down to Richie's mouth for a split second before they dart back up, just in time to meet Richie's inquisitive stare. Eddie clears his throat.

"You know," he says. "When I told my mom I was leaving, she didn't believe me."

"Really?" Richie asks.

Eddie shakes his head. "She was mad at first, but then she kinda stopped and just told me that it didn't matter, that I would realize how stupid and dangerous it was and let it go by the next morning. She didn't think I'd actually get the courage to _go_."

Richie just hums. "That's because she doesn't really know you."

Eddie thinks about this. He closes his eyes and feels the water around him, how cool it is compared to the warmth of Richie's shoulders under his hands. "Did you worry I'd change my mind?" he asks. "After I agreed to go. Did you ever think I might... get scared and chicken out?"

"No," Richie says. 

Eddie opens his eyes again. "Really? Not even once?"

"Not even once."

Eddie frowns a little. "Why not?"

Richie smiles at him that way he does when they're alone. "Because, I _do_ know you, remember?"

It's late now. There's a chill in the air but the warmth in Eddie's chest prevents him from feeling it. He lets go of Richie and pinches his nose, plunging into the water as deep as he can make himself go. Everything is quiet and still. When he pops back up Richie is still in front of him, and he laughs faintly when Eddie splashes him.

"Ready for bed?" 

Eddie nods, so they both swim over to the edge. He wraps a towel around his waist, scrubs another one over his hair before draping it around his shoulders, and turns to follow Richie back to their room. The other boy just grins at him. 

"Cute," He says.

Eddie rolls his eyes, turning away to hide a smile. "Shut up," he mumbles.

Back at the room, they take turns in the shower. Eddie goes first, doing his best to scrub the chlorine out of his hair, brushes his teeth, and then tucks himself into bed. The mattresses aren't too uncomfortable. Having his own pillow helps. He listens to the shower running, listens to Richie singing to himself. Sweet Child 'O Mine must have gotten stuck in his head. Eddie grins, feeling himself start to drift off. 

The next time he opens his eyes, it's to see Richie climbing into bed opposite him. He's now wearing grey sweatpants and a Sublime shirt, dark green with the outline of a sun. The lamp light behind him makes the edges of his hair glow. It's strange, laying here, looking at him, so close but with a cavern between them, when earlier they had a whole pool and left no space between their bodies. That's just what they're like though, he supposes. One second they're falling into _something_ and the next they're pushed back. Maybe it's all in Eddie's head. Or in his stomach, his chest, his fingers — everywhere else he feels the ache that tells him he should be in _that_ bed and not this one. Richie looks up at him with a soft expression that only makes that ache grow. 

"Go to sleep," he whispers. 

Eddie does.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Eddie wakes up before Richie, which is not unusual. He looks over to see a mess of black hair sticking out of the sheets in various directions. He stares for a little while, lost in thought, and then Richie is stretching, groaning, flopping out of bed onto the floor. 

"Ow," he mumbles. 

"Morning," Eddie says. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Richie picks himself up begrudgingly. He looks sleep-rumpled and disoriented and Eddie kinda wants to smooth his hair down, but he also kinda likes it how it is. 

Bright sunlight peeks through the blackout curtains, sending a golden stripe right down the center of the room that illuminates everything around it just enough to see. It feels so weird, being here. Somewhere in Ohio, in a motel room that he hardly remembers what it looks like from the outside. It's so _unfamiliar —_ the way the room smells and feels and looks, the knowledge that he really has no idea where he is besides the name of the state. He would be frightened by it all. 

Would be. Except Richie gives another stretch and a lopsided grin, and his brain fills his body with _safesafesafe_. 

"Breakfast?" Richie asks.

"Yes, fuck, I'm starving."

It only takes a few minutes to be ready to leave, since Richie just took out a toothbrush and Eddie is an expert packer. He double checks the room anyway to make sure they didn't forget anything, and then they're gone. 

They go back to the diner, sit in the same booth, and Alice brings them coffee and pancakes, which Richie smothers with butter and syrup and Eddie spreads a light layer of strawberry jam on. Richie sits sideways in the booth now with his back against the wall and his legs up on the bench. His sunglasses are on this time to shield his eyes from the harsh lights. It they weren't travelling, Eddie suspects he'd still be asleep. They talk about nonsense like they always do, Richie makes Eddie laugh like he always does, but there's something... _off_. 

"Hey, Rich?" Eddie asks after a Robert De Niro impression lacks the same _gusto_ he's used to. 

"Hm?" Richie hums, sipping his coffee.

"What's wrong? Are you homesick?"

Richie snorts. "Not even a little bit," he says. 

"Then what is it?" Eddie pushes. "Don't tell me it's nothing, I know _you_ , remember?"

Richie grins against the rim of the mug, and then sets it down slowly, pushing his sunglasses up on his head. "It's... not a _big_ something."

Eddie raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. 

Richie rolls his eyes and his whole head, thunking it back against the wall. He stares ahead for a moment. Eddie lets the silence pass patiently. "What if..." he starts quietly. "What if it doesn't... work."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Richie thumps his head back again, which makes an old lady at the table over look up and glare. "What if _I_ don't work there? What if they hate me or something?"

Eddie blinks. "Isn't it my job to be irrationally worried about everything?"

The fondness comes back to Richie's eyes for just a second, then falls away again in favor of something else. Something sadder. "I'm serious," he says. "It's not like I was ever _popular_ , really. Not that I wanted to be. I was totally and completely fine having just you and the losers."

"You're not anymore?" Eddie asks. It sounds selfish coming out of his mouth, and he wishes he'd said something a little more sympathetic. 

Richie chews his bottom lip. "The losers won't be with me," he says. "You won't be with me."

And, oh. Richie is _scared_. 

Eddie feels something twist in his stomach. Richie should never be scared. Richie is too smart, too confident, too — too _everything_. Eddie gets scared. Richie always knows better, knows how to comfort him. Eddie has never been as good with words, he uses too many because he never knows the right ones to choose, but he tries his best now to narrow them down, to say only what's important. 

"Richie," he says firmly. "They're gonna love you."

The other boy bobs his head back and forth dismissively. 

"No, listen," Eddie continues, and Richie looks at him now. "You're... you're the most annoying person I've ever known, okay?"

Richie barks out a laugh. "Nice pep talk, Eds," 

Eddie's ears burn. "I'm not _finished_ , let me _finish_. This is what I mean, you dick."

Richie grins, seals his lips closed with his fingers, and nods for him to continue. 

"You're annoying because... you're incredibly smart despite acting like a dumbass constantly. You know how to get into people's heads to just — drive them fucking crazy. But you also know exactly how to cheer your friends up. And how to make everyone laugh no matter what the situation is. You know what to say to — to convince Stan's mom to let him skip his chores and come hang out with us. You know how to make Bill feel better about his writing, even if he hated it at first. And I don't know how you do it. But you make everyone feel like themselves, Rich. So if the people at your new school don't like you, then I guess they're just fucking morons, because you're also the best person I know."

Richie looks at him in a way he hasn't before. At least, not in a way Eddie remembers, because it makes him feel a little dizzy and a little floaty. "Aw, Spaghetti," he says, overly sweet, hand on his chest. "You mean it?" There's a hint of honestly in the dramatics though that Eddie doesn't miss.

"You're my best friend, Richie." he says. "I only hate you sometimes."

Richie laughs. Then he slides his own plate over, moving Eddie's jam pancakes out of the way. "Alright, come on, finish this. I know you like it better with syrup and you only use jam because you think it's healthier."

Eddie scoffs. Tension effectively broken. "I happen to love strawberry jam," he says. 

"You love strawberry everything," Richie notes. "But you also love sticky sweet syrupy pancakes with way too much butter. I'm onto you, Kaspbrack." 

Eddie tries to sputter out a comeback, but they do look incredibly enticing, and also a little gross, which oddly he doesn't mind. 

Richie smirks at him. "Eat the fucking pancakes, Eddie, before I force feed them to you."

Eddie quickly takes a bite and tries not to think about Richie feeding him. He's halfway through when he feels Richie's foot nudge his under the table. He glances up, and Richie isn't looking at him, but he seems... happier. A little less afraid. 

"You're the best person I know too, Eds," he says. "And not just because you laugh at all my jokes."

"Not _all_ your jokes,"

"Pretty much all of them," 

They lock eyes, something unspoken passing between them, and Eddie nods. Richie smiles and nods back. 

They pay the bill.

  
  


The next several hours all they can see are fields. Also cows, and the occasional group of windmills. But mostly just miles and miles of plain. They entertain themselves with singing along to a mixtape titled _shit's getting boring_ , full of high energy songs in every genre. Richie has the windows rolled down, music blasting to overpower the loud wind that whips his hair around. He's yelling along to EMF (annoyingly on-key), and it's making Eddie giggle uncontrollably with how theatrical he's being — he's sure part of it is due to being trapped in a car for so long.

" _The things you say, the purple prose just gives you away_ ," he sings, head banging. " _The things, you say_ ,"

He pauses with the music, turning towards Eddie, and Eddie can see it coming before it happens. He bites his lip to contain a smile that's already splitting through him.

" _YOU'RE UNBELIEVABLE!_ " Richie points at him for full effect, and, yup, Eddie's face is bright red. 

And honestly, how is he going to survive this? Being stuck in a car for days with nowhere else for Richie to direct his attention except on Eddie? How will he manage _living_ with him, coming home to him every day, sharing meals, sharing space? What will Eddie do when Richie is sick and he's making him soup and checking his temperature because there's no one else to do it? What will happen when _Eddie_ is sick, will Richie make _him_ soup, check for a fever with a gentle hand on his forehead? 

A few days ago just an ounce of Richie's attention was almost too much to bear. Now, he feels engulfed in it — hot tickling flames that spread from his chest to his fingers when their wrists touch between the seats of the car. It hurts when Richie looks at him and it hurts when he looks away. Funny how much clearer things get when there aren't any distractions.

They drive and drive and listen to music and at one point Eddie sees an actual tumbleweed bounce across the road, and they laugh like crazy over it despite it being a perfectly ordinary thing. They're in the middle of absolute nowhere and it can be hilarious to be reminded of that. 

Eventually they're in need of gas, so Richie pulls off the road at the first station he sees, which takes a little too long and Eddie is glancing anxiously at the meter by the time they roll in. He stays in the car and watches Richie fill it up. The other boy leans up against the car while he waits, one leg bent so his foot is flat on the door, arms crossed. His arms have gotten more toned over the summer and ever since Eddie noticed it he can't stop noticing it. 

"Hey," Richie says, leaning into the window a moment later. "Wanna come with me to pay? I need a drink.”

Eddie nods and scrambles out of the car, grateful for the very slight breeze outside. His thighs were starting to stick to the seat without the AC.

Inside the gas station is definitely cooler. They head back to the freezers to get some drinks, and then Eddie peruses the snacks while Richie pays for the gas. When he meets him back at the front, his Cheez-Its and circus animal cookies are suddenly far less interesting. Richie is talking to the girl behind the counter, seemingly around their age, with long brown hair and a tight shirt. She's leaning on her arms to better hear whatever dumb joke Richie is telling but Eddie can tell from her face that she's not really listening at all. 

Whatever. Richie is hot, she has eyes, this isn't unprecedented. Eddie has absolutely no reason to be annoyed by this. He stands behind Richie, tapping his foot and huffing out little sighs while the girl takes her time telling him about each scratch-it they have in stock. 

"How about you just give me a winner," Richie says.

The girl laughs sweetly, and Eddie tries with all his might not to roll his eyes. He does not succeed. Luckily the girl doesn't notice, and neither does Richie, which kind of annoys Eddie even more even though he has no reason to be annoyed. It's just — that wasn't even funny. At least wait until Richie says something funny to laugh. Richie says funny things all the time, the moment will come along. 

"If I could I would," she says. 

"Nah, you would've taken it for yourself already, you're not foolin' anyone." 

Eddie clears his throat to make his presence known, but neither look up at him. He sighs a little louder, moves his cookies from one hand to the other so they make a rustling sound. They are on a _schedule_. What's taking so long anyway? Just pick a fucking ticket and let's go. The girl is telling Richie that people seem to win more often with the 4 Leaf Clover cards, but they win more money with the Lucky 7 cards. Richie is chatting back easily, making humorous quips about god knows what, and she's soaking it all in. _This is how he talks to everyone_ , Eddie wants to tell her. _He's not flirting with you_. 

Except he can see how she'd be confused. Richie has a way of making everyone he talks to feel like the most important person in the world. It makes him squirmy, though, the way he can see it on her face how Richie is making her feel. She's blushing slightly, smiling as she watches him. She's not even _subtle_. Eddie likes to think he's a lot more subtle than _that_. It's not just her though — Richie is taking an annoyingly long time to make a decision. God, if he's this sick of having only Eddie to talk to, there are better places to make friends than the fucking gas station. 

"Just choose a card, jesus," Eddie grumbles.

The girl looks up, just now noticing him standing there. He knows he's frowning at her but he doesn't try to stop. "I can get Jerry to help you at the other register," she says.

Eddie is just starting to scoff when Richie speaks up and tells her, "Oh no, he's with me. Ring him up first."

_Yeah_ , Eddie's eyebrow raise says, _I'm with him_. 

The girl scans Eddie's snacks while Richie stares into the case, clearly concentrating hard on which ticket will win him a million dollars. When she tells Eddie his total, Richie immediately cuts in with an, "I've got that too, hang on, I'm almost done."

Eddie folds his arms again, staring her down. He knows she didn't do anything wrong, but he just has this _feeling_ about her, like he knows they wouldn't get along. She doesn't seem too fazed by him though, still leaning far too close to Richie. Doesn't she know not to get in people's personal space?

"Eddie," Richie says. "Which one do you want?"

Eddie looks into the case and says the first one he sees. "I like Lucky Penny."

"Lucky Penny it is," Richie pulls out a few folded bills and hands them over. Their hands touch when she takes it, and Eddie feels another pang of annoyance.

"Hope you get lucky," she says with a wink.

Eddie's eyes widen. Um, _hello_? That is _far_ too forward, he's a _stranger_ , why would she just assume he wants her to flirt with him? Richie wasn't flirting with her. He wasn't. 

"Oh I'm definitely feelin' lucky," Richie says back.

The smell of the gas station is starting to make Eddie feel a bit nauseous. He taps Richie on the shoulder and says, "Are you done? Our drinks are getting warm."

Richie pinches Eddie's side, making him squirm away. "I'm done, Spaghetti, and our drinks are fine. It's air conditioned in here.”

Eddie huffs again, but he doesn't have a response. He's tired of stretching his legs and wants to be back in the car, driving away from this tiny town and this girl who is clearly prone to misinterpreting signals. They've already lost valuable time that could've gotten them closer to California. 

Richie flattens the lottery ticket against the counter, pulling out a penny. "A lucky penny for Lucky Penny," he says, and starts scratching, which he definitely could've done in the car. A few seconds later he turns to Eddie with a grin. "We just won ten dollars!" he says. "Good pick, babe. Why don't you grab us some celebratory popsicles."

Eddie preens at the petname, grabbing two rocket pops from the freezer case while Richie collects their winnings. Which, technically are just _Richie's_ winnings, since he bought the ticket, but Eddie isn't about to remind him of that when the girl is now giving them suspicious looks, like maybe she's not so sure anymore what they are.

Richie pays and then they're back in the car, and Eddie can relax.

"Mary was nice," Richie says around his popsicle as they pull back onto the freeway. 

Eddie is distracted by the way his lips wrap around it. "Who?" he asks flippantly. 

"The girl, back at the gas station." Richie pulls off with a pop. "She was nice."

Eddie hums and waves a hand. "I guess," he says, licking at his own melting treat.

"What, you didn't think so?"

Eddie puts his feet up on the dashboard, something Richie yells at anyone else for doing in his car, and says, "She was very flirty."

"Was she? Didn't notice."

"Bullshit, yes you did." Eddie retorts, sounding more annoyed than he feels right now.

"Alright, I did," Richie laughs a little. "So?"

Eddie shrugs and stares out the window, trying to focus on some Bon Jovi song that's playing in the background. They're passing some factories now — proof that someone other than Mary from the gas station lives here, or at least works here. 

"Eddie," Richie says in that voice that means he's not letting this go. "Why do you care if she was flirting?"

"I _don't_ ,"

"Eddie."

"I just — I don't think you should lead her on, or whatever. Did you like her? Because she certainly thought you did."

Richie raises an eyebrow at him. "I don't even know her,"

"But you were flirting back.”

Richie hesitates before answering, and it's the longest four seconds of Eddie's life. "Kinda," he says finally. 

Eddie feels his stomach drop. _What_? So she _wasn't_ misinterpreting the situation — _Eddie_ was?

"It's not —" Richie shakes his head. "It's not because I liked her though. She's not my type."

_What is your type then, so I can prepare myself for the rest of this trip?_

Eddie bites the end of his popsicle off. "But you were flirting with her," he says again.

Richie shrugs. "She's probably bored as fuck out here." he says. "The majority of guys who come in are probably like fifty year old truckers, I'll never see her again, I didn't see any harm."

"Oh," Eddie says plainly. He feels a little silly for overreacting. 

Richie grins over at him. "You look cute in those shorts," he says. "Very summery."

Eddie snorts, feeling the familiarity settle back in. "Shut up," he says. 

"Seriously," Richie sucks at his rocket pop. "I need to stop wearing skinny jeans every day, I'm so fucking hot."

_Can't argue with you there_ , Eddie thinks. "What can I say, I'm a trendsetter." he says.

Richie laughs, turns up the music, and just like that everything is okay again. 

  
  


As it turns out, neither of them were prepared to spend all day in the car for multiple days straight, so they agree that enjoying an evening at the hotel fits into their schedule nicely. It's still light out when they check in but they feel just as tired as they did driving all night. They order a pizza — half Hawaiian and half plain cheese — and squish up next to each other on one bed to watch MTV. Eddie doesn't care for it usually; he prefers movies with plot, but Richie loves the humor and the music and the wild outfits. It's the reason he started wearing those tight jeans, so Eddie can't complain too much. 

"I wanna do that," Richie says, pulling off a piece of pineapple with two fingers and dropping it into his mouth.

Eddie looks at the video that's playing; the screen flashes between some edgy looking guys playing electric guitars and a group of people marching in the street, setting trash cans on fire. "Protest or play in a band?" he asks. 

"Both," Richie says, grinning. "That's why I'm so excited for California. There's stuff going on there."

Eddie leans back into the pillows, taking his cheese slice with him. He can feel Richie's leg bouncing up against his own. "I didn't know you wanted to be in protests," he says.

"Well, sometimes, sure." Richie replies. "I won't go to all of them probably. I just wanna have the option, y'know? No one cares about anything in Derry."

Eddie hums. He does know. And he's always known Richie was made for bigger things — things that involve a whole lot of caring. He remembers growing up, how adults like his mother and Mrs. Adams next door would say things about Richie; they'd call him a troublemaker, or a loose cannon. _No one can control that boy_ , Sonia would say with a disapproving shake of her head. Eddie would always smile a secret smile and think about how much he loved that about him.

"And be in a band?" 

"Oh, you know I'm gonna be a rockstar," Richie falls back into the pillows beside him, hands behind his head.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks.

Richie laughs. "I dunno," he says. "Maybe. I'm gonna be something."

Eddie knows he will be. He already is. 

"What about you?"

"Me?"

Richie throws his wadded up napkin at Eddie, who bats it away easily. "You," he confirms.

Eddie sighs through his nose. He stares ahead with his hands folded over his chest. "I'll let you take me to smaller protests," he says, knowing that's not exactly what Richie was asking him. "I don't like crowds much, but I care about things too." He cares so much. He needs Richie to know how badly he cares too, that he's not like the rest of the people in Derry — although he suspects he already knows that.

"I know you do," Richie says, sounding pleased by it. He studies Eddie for a moment. "You gonna be in a band with me?"

Eddie snorts. "I'll sell your t-shirts," he says.

Richie laughs, kicking his leg out so it knocks into his. "Will you be my groupie, Spaghetti?" he asks. 

Eddie rolls his eyes out of habit, but he's smiling, and Richie can see it, and he doesn't mind a bit. "Obviously," he says, trying to sound sarcastic and failing. "I'll be your biggest fan."

When their giggles die down and it's been quiet for a moment, both boys smiling to themselves and still looking forward, he hears Richie say, "I'll be yours, too."

They finish the pizza and watch TV and talk and laugh until their tiredness catches up with them. It doesn't feel as strange in this motel room, somehow. They're sprawled out with their arms and legs touching on top of the covers by the time Eddie notices what time it is, and god, he doesn't want to get up but he can't fall asleep here without a shower, not after travelling all day. He still feels filthy from the gas station. 

Luckily (or unluckily), Richie gets up first. "Okay," he yawns. "I need to brush my teeth before you get in there." 

Eddie nods and tries not to miss his warmth. 

When Richie returns, Eddie hops into action, planning on taking the quickest shower ever achieved by man. Maybe that way Richie won't be ready to sleep and he can milk it a bit longer, watch a few more psychedelic Pink Floyd videos with his head against Richie's shoulder. It's difficult, however, once he gets under the water. He always forgets how good it feels on his back and arms, warming him all the way up and calming parts of him he didn't realize needed calming still. It's the cleanest part of the whole room, and he likes that the sound drowns out everything else, allows him to focus on one thought at a time. He thinks about Derry, about his room and his own shower. He thinks about California and their new apartment above Beatrice's house and what their new shower will be like. He thinks about Richie, out there on his bed wearing those low hanging grey sweatpants...

He quickly shuts off the water before his shower takes a little detour that will use up all his time.

Unfortunately for him, by the time he emerges in his pjs, Richie is already under the covers with the TV off. Eddie withholds a sigh and climbs into the opposite bed. It feels cold, a little too firm without the weight of two bodies pushing it down. The room is starting to feel strange again. Unfamiliar and discomforting and too far away from everything. To Eddie's surprise he recognizes the feeling of homesickness start to fill his stomach — but oddly, it's not his bedroom he's aching for. 

"Richie," Eddie says. The lamp is still on but Richie has been facing the other way, and it's unclear whether or not he's asleep. His glasses are on the table which indicates that he might be.

"Yeah?" The reply comes immediately. So, not asleep.

"Um, are you... are you going to sleep?"

"That was the plan, Edwardo." Richie rolls over to face the ceiling. "Why?"

"I dunno, nothing, it's — I just was wondering if your bed was like, comfortable." He says dumbly. He can see Richie's smirk easily in the dimly lit room.

"You were just on it," he says with amusement. "It's fine. Is yours not?" He rolls to look at Eddie now, elbow propped up and head in his hand.

Eddie chews his bottom lip. "It's... fine, yeah." he says. "Just..."

"Weird?" Richie asks. 

"Yeah.”

"Empty?"

Eddie meets his gaze, and he wonders if he imagines the same look of hopefulness on Richie's face, mirroring his own. "Yeah."

Richie shuffles over a little, pulling back the covers in invitation. Eddie is out of bed without another word and crawling into his. The sheets are warm where Richie was laying, and Eddie breathes out with relief as he settles in, eyes already closing. The other boy chuckles and pulls him closer, which Eddie does not resist. He feels Richie's chest against his hands, knees touching, feels Richie nose into his damp hair. Once again he's filled up with _safesafesafe._

"Better," Richie says, and Eddie doesn't know if it's a question or a statement, but he hums pleasantly. 

Eddie rolls closer to Richie when he shifts, hears the lamp switch off, and then his eyelids become a lot darker. The covers are pulled up around him and Richie settles down once more, holding him impossibly close now. Eddie can feel his heartbeat against his fingers. It's miraculous how quickly any leftover tension leaves his body. How quickly he feels comfortable enough to relax entirely, much sleepier than he thought. He feels warm and soft and heavy, like he might sink right through the mattress, but Richie's hand on his back slides down to rest on his arm and he thinks instead he'll stay right here forever. Sometimes Eddie doesn't realize how badly he craves the closeness until he gets it. 

He remembers he should say goodnight, and he tries to, but he's asleep before the word leaves his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Eddie wakes up feeling more rested than he has since before they left Derry. 

Richie is on his back, arms above his head and eyes closed, and Eddie is curled up into his side with his hands still on his chest. They stay like that for awhile. The only sound is from the air conditioning clicking on and occasional muffled car engines starting outside. Eddie feels the rise and fall of each sleeping breath and stays completely still, careful to not shift in any way that could wake him up. Laying with Richie has always been his favourite thing to do. Whether he's dragged down onto the couch with him before a movie, or wrestling him for a spot in the hammock that they both know he'll always win. He's always looking for Richie's touch, and the second it moves away he's starving for it again. It's something he came to terms with a long time ago, and so he savours every moment of it he gets. 

After fifteen or so minutes, Richie stirs. He stretches his arms up, Eddie can feel it above him, and then his legs, letting out a long moan with it.

"Morning," Eddie says, trying to ignore the sound and what it does to him.

Instead of answering, Richie rolls over on top of him. He slides his arms under Eddie and buries his face in his chest, and god, Eddie never wants him to move but he also _needs_ him to move _right now_ or things are gonna get awkward. "Mm," Richie says.

"We should get up," Eddie says, keeping his hips absolutely still.

"Or we could stay here and sleep for a few more days," Richie says, and the words vibrate against Eddie's chest, and he has to _get up right now_.

Eddie brushes the other's boy's hair out of his own face, pushing against him a little and — nope, nope, bad idea — pushes his hips as far back into the mattress as they'll go. "Rich, I gotta get up."

"Mmf, five more minutes,"

"If you don't get up I'm actually gonna piss on you,"

Richie lifts himself up to look at Eddie with bleary eyes and a lopsided grin. "Kinky," he says. Then he rolls off, and for a second Eddie is disappointed, until he remembers that's what he wanted.

Eddie sits up before he does something stupid. 

It takes a little longer to pack this time, both of them feeling lazy still. Twice Richie tries to pull Eddie back down onto the bed, claiming they need more beauty sleep, and both times Eddie laughed and told him to stop being stupid, using all of his willpower to wriggle out of Richie's embrace. This boy will be the death of him, he swears. 

Once they're fully packed up and ready to go, they head downstairs for the included breakfast buffet.

"Miniature cereal boxes?" Eddie remarks as they enter the dining area. "Fancy."

"We shall feast like kings," Richie says with a deep voice, making him giggle.

They fill their plates with fruit and toast and scrambled eggs that had been a powder an hour ago, and eat together by a little TV playing news that they're not watching. It's nice; the dull hum of weather reports and people chatting over their morning coffee, that hotel smell of syrup and chlorine and air conditioner, and Richie's foot up against his under the table. He could get used to eating breakfast like this. Nothing to worry about, nowhere to go but west. Travelling used to be so stressful with his mother. Her, fussing over him and worrying at every turn, him, doing the same to mask how much he'd rather be home, in his own bed or climbing through the window into Richie's. 

When they finish, Richie begins to unabashedly shove tiny boxes of Fruit Loops and Frosted Flakes into his backpack for later consumption. 

"You know, for if we get stranded and we need food,"

Eddie's eyes widen, brow already creasing. 

"Kidding! Kidding, sorry." Richie says, hand up in surrender. "I've got a map, we'll be fine."

"You'd better hope so," Eddie says. "We're going through Colorado today, we could get lost in the woods and end up eaten by bears."

Richie raises an eyebrow, packing some Rice Krispies into the front pouch. "Eddie, we grew up wandering through woods far more dangerous than the ones in Colorado, we've got this."

"How do _you_ know they're more dangerous?"

"Because," he says, struggling to zip up his bag. "Everything is worse in Derry." 

Eddie is about to reply, but is cut short by a man stopping next to their table. 

“Everything going well this morning?” He asks. “May I clear any plates for you?” 

Eddie looks up at him. The man — boy, really — is probably around their age, maybe a few years older. He has sandy blonde hair and high cheekbones, his smile crafted for hospitality but no less charming. 

“Oh — um, I don’t think we’re finished,” Eddie says. “And everything is great, thanks”

James, as his name tag reads, nods. “Glad to hear it,” he says. “And I trust your room was satisfactory?” 

Eddie shifts in his seat. The room did have a few problems; a drippy faucet, not enough pillows, one of the remote buttons stuck, but he finds the complaints difficult to get out for some reason. None of that was James’ fault and there’s no reason he should hear about it. “No — I mean yes, the room was satisfactory. No problems.” he says. He glances over at Richie, who’s giving him a funny look. 

“Fantastic!” James says. “Well, if you need anything just ask.” 

He hesitates a second, like Eddie might change his mind and start ranting after all, and then he’s gone. Well, not _gone_ , just bussing the tables by the fruit bar. He hums while he does it, like he’s really enjoying his job of cleaning up dirty dishes. It makes Eddie smile a little. 

Richie clears his throat. Eddie’s eyes dart back over to him. His expression is unreadable, a little curious maybe, but it falls away quickly. “As I was saying,” he says. “Derry sucks. And we have cereal.”

“Right,” Eddie nods. “And we’re not gonna get lost or I’ll kill you.” he takes a sip of orange juice with his eyebrows raised. 

Richie’s smile comes back, and Eddie decides he was just imagining whatever discomfort he thought he saw. 

  
  


They take their time finishing the last of their breakfast; Eddie eats Richie’s extra mini muffin, feet swinging under his chair and scuffing the carpet, and Richie is turned sideways to watch and do impressions of the eccentric weatherman. He does it to make Eddie laugh, and Eddie always does. 

Then James shows back up. 

“Hello,” he says, just as cheery as before. “How ‘bout now? Can I snag these plates from ya?”

Eddie glances down at his now empty plate. “Oh, sure,” he says. “Thank you.” He watches as James clears their table, sleeves pushed up, still humming. 

Richie frowns when his glass is taken. “I wasn’t done with that,” he mumbles. 

“No worries!” James sets it right back down. “So, where are you headed today?” he asks conversationally, and he’s facing just Eddie now, asking him. 

Eddie squirms a little under the attention. He’s not sure _why_ exactly — he’s not shy, but there’s something about this guy that’s making him nervous. “California,” he says. 

“Whoa! You plan on getting all the way there today? Long trip!” 

Richie rolls his eyes from across the table. 

“Not, not all in one day,” Eddie says. “But that’s where we’re headed... you know, when we get there.”

“Right, right. Well hey, awesome!” James says, and he sounds genuinely excited. “I have a cousin who lives out in LA — can’t say I get out there myself that often, but it’s a cool place!”

“We’re not going to LA,” Richie pipes up, but James ignores him, still smiling at Eddie. The dishes are all in the bus bin now save for Richie’s glass. 

“Where in California you goin’ then?” he asks. 

Eddie can’t seem to look away from his imploring gaze, even though it makes his neck a little warm — he doesn’t usually get this much attention from boys he doesn’t know. It’s hard to decide whether he’s enjoying it or not. “Santa Cruz,” he says. 

“Nice, nice!” James nods with enthusiasm. “Well, that’s not _too_ far from LA. Maybe I’ll see you there sometime, you know, catchin’ some waves or something.” He throws Eddie a quick wink, easily missable but definitely noticed by both him and Richie, who frowns. 

Eddie laughs, the sound unnatural and anxious to his own ears. “Well, it’s a big place,” he says dumbly. 

“And you don’t surf,” Richie supplies. 

James just shrugs. “You can learn,” 

Richie shakes his bag suddenly so the cereal boxes fall in further. “Well,” he says, voice a little louder, “We should probably be going, Eddie, get on the road.”

Eddie stands up slowly. “Right,” he says. “Yeah, we should, um. Thanks.” 

James gives him a little nod, though he looks disappointed. “Safe travels, Eddie.” he says. “Hope I run into ya on the beach someday!” 

Eddie nods hurriedly and grabs his bag, giving a polite smile as he follows Richie towards the door. He looks back once, and at finding James still watching, quickly turns away again, knowing for sure he’s blushing now. 

Richie is unusually quiet as they make their way to the car. The sun is warm on their shoulders, breezing ruffling through their hair and birds singing as they drag their suitcases across the blacktop. He’s still quiet when he turns on the car. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks. 

Richie looks over and smiles. “I’m fine,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Eddie shrugs. “You seemed a little weird inside.” 

“I’m fine,” Richie says again. He’s quiet for a moment then. Eddie eyes him curiously, knowing him well enough to know the conversation isn’t quite over. Finally he asks, “Why didn’t you complain though?” 

Eddie frowns. “Why — what do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just, last night,” Richie says. “You were really annoyed with the remote and the faucet and stuff. You said you were gonna tell someone so they could get it fixed. But then when he asked you, you didn’t say anything.” 

Eddie chews his bottom lip, facing forward again. He does know why he didn’t say anything, and the easiest thing would be to just brush it off, say he forgot — Richie would find it a bit odd, but then he’d move on and it would never be mentioned again. 

Instead he says, “I was distracted. By James.” 

Richie’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. Eddie notices because he’s watching carefully, gauging his reactions to decide if he wants to continue, tell Richie what he’s almost told him so many times. But the problem isn’t telling him — no, Eddie’s imagined himself saying the words enough times that they’ll come easily. And anyway, Richie probably won’t be that surprised, so he doesn’t have much to worry about there. The tricky part will be _not_ saying everything. He’s a little afraid once he starts, he won’t be able to stop. 

“He did talk a lot,” Richie says. The annoyance in his voice is back, but he’s trying to hide it Eddie thinks. It’s not working. 

Eddie takes a breath. “That’s not why I was distracted,” he says. 

Richie glances at him, expression unreadable again. It’s gentle though — that much he can tell. 

“He was, uh... flirting with me? I think? And it made me a little nervous but also I... didn’t hate it.” Eddie says. “Because I...”

“You liked him?” Richie asks quietly. 

“No! Well not really,” Eddie frowns. “I don’t even know him. But I am gay.”

Well. He’s said it. Richie knows now. And that’s _all_ he needs to know. 

“Thank god,” 

Eddie’s head snaps up to look at him again. “What?” 

“Thank god you don’t actually like him,” Richie says. “Because he was really annoying. I’m gay too, by the way. Guess I shouldn’t leave out that part.”

Eddie just stares at him. On some level he knew Richie probably wasn’t straight — or hoped, at least — but hearing it out loud is much different than imagining it. His thoughts are racing, filling him with questions and hopes and all sorts of things that are dangerous to have. _Richie is gay. Richie likes boys._ “Oh,” he says. 

Richie looks at him again, eyes searching, and Eddie wants to scream _what are you thinking and why do you look at me like I should know??_ But he’s not sure that would go over well, so he stays quiet. 

“Have you told anyone else?” Richie asks. 

Eddie pulls his knees up, feeling the cool air on his face from the vents, and it relaxes him. “No,” he says. “I think Bev knows, though. I didn’t tell her, exactly, but uh — she just... knows things.” He probably shouldn’t have said that. Now Richie will ask what things, and what is he supposed to say? _I haven't told her I'm gay but she's probably figured it out given how I'm in love with you and all?_

Richie just nods. “Stan knows about me,” he says. “He’s good at getting me to admit things.”

And there’s that _look_ again. Eddie doesn’t know what to do with it. 

“So, is James your type?” 

Eddie laughs a little. “Nah,” he says. “Not really.”

Richie’s eyes widen with his smile, and Eddie thinks, _ah fuck_. “What’s your type then?”

"I am _not_ telling you,"

"What?? Come on!" Richie sounds absolutely crushed, and it makes Eddie laugh. “I'm your best friend, I'm supposed to know these things!"

"Not a chance, Trashmouth. I know better than that." Eddie says, and his brain is telling him to _stop talking_ now before it’s too late. 

Richie humphs. “I’ll find out,” he says teasingly. 

Eddie’s heart pounds. _I hope you don’t._

“You wanna know my type?” Richie asks. 

Eddie lulls his head to the side to look at him. "I'm not gonna tell you mine," he says

"I know,"

"Fine. What's your type, Richie?" Eddie asks, knowing he’s walked right into something.

Richie grins over at him, then furrows his brows, pretending to think. "Short, loud, ditches me on elevators...” 

Eddie's jaw drops, and Richie cackles. He reaches over and smacks Richie's chest. "Fuck _you_ , the doors closed! I couldn't stop them!"

Richie catches his hand, still laughing, and says, "Mhmm, sure!"

"You're insufferable," Eddie says with a shake of his head. 

“You're adorable," Richie retorts easily, and Eddie wishes it didn't make his heart skip. He's only teasing — why can't his body get a grip?

"I hate you," 

Richie smirks, turning up the Day 3 mixtape, rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb. Eddie is glad he doesn't say _you love me_ like he often does; he may not be able to deny it this time.

Eddie has decided that he does not like driving through mountains. The scenery is beautiful, as Richie so helpfully points out to him when he starts to get anxious, but the decline of the car and the winding roads do nothing to relax him. In fact they do quite the opposite. Whenever Richie needs to step on the brakes just to make a turn, Eddie's hand shoots out to grip his arm. 

"Richie," he groans. "How much longer until everything is flat again?"

"A little while," Richie says, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. Eddie had shrieked at him to keep his eyes on the road the last time he'd turned his head. "Keep drinking that ginger ale."

Eddie doesn't remove his hand from Richie's arm but uses his other one to shakily pick up his bottle of ginger ale from the cup holder. He thinks longingly about the grocery store where they'd bought it, how the ground was flat and even. "Fuck," he mumbles, trying and failing to unscrew it with two fingers. 

"Babe, you might have to let go of me to take the cap off." Richie points out, voice gentle. 

Eddie pulls his hand away. He takes one long swig of the ginger ale, but he knows that it's useless, his stomach won't settle until he's back at sea level. 

"Hey, can you switch the cassette?" Richie asks him as he's setting it back down. "Put back on the garlic bread one."

Eddie does, and the sound of the car engine is suddenly drowned out by Abba. He perks up a little, leaning back into his seat, wondering if maybe closing his eyes will help. It doesn't. He much prefers to see the road and have proof that they're not about to fly off the side into a river or something. He tries to relax a little, focus only on the music, and the sound of Richie singing along as usual. 

" _Knowing me, knowing you, ahaaaa_ ," 

Eddie takes a slow, deep breath. He still feels jittery, like he'd rather get out of the car and walk back to civilization hugging the side of the mountain all the way down, but he feels a little less like throwing up now. Maybe the ginger ale did help a bit.

"You can hold my arm again," Richie says. "If that'll help. I know you want me to keep both hands on the wheel."

Eddie nods silently and reaches over again, fingers curling around the warmth of Richie's bicep. It does help. 

For a little while, anyway. The garlic bread mixtape is full of songs Eddie loves, songs he can get lost in and sing along to, and holding onto Richie makes him feel grounded. But as they descend down the mountain the road becomes more winding and narrow. He can feel his breakfast sloshing around in his stomach, ears aching and popping. They're just arriving at the bottom when a semi-truck comes a little too close, and Richie swerves to the side, and Eddie exclaims with feeling, "I'm gonna throw up!"

Clearly it sounded convincing because Richie wastes no time. He veers off into the dirt — the roads have gotten wider again so it's safe enough — and jumps out of the car.

Eddie opens his door and nearly falls out, immediately throwing up at his own feet. His throat burns. His nose burns. He reaches for the door to steady himself and just barely misses it, but before he can fall into his own vomit, he feels Richie's big hands on his shoulders.

"Whoa there," he says.

Eddie groans. "Rich," he says.

"I know," Richie says, turning him, holding him up with one arm and rubbing his back with the other. 

Eddie can see Richie's feet carefully placed around his pool of puke. He feels a wave of embarrassment run through him, as well as more dizziness. "This is gross," he says. "Richie —" He tries to push away, but the movement makes him bend forward again, retching. 

Richie stays right where he is. Eddie doesn't try to stop him. 

"Here," The other boy holds out a napkin to him. Eddie takes it and wipes his mouth, and then Richie is holding a bottle of water up, helping him to take a drink. "You need to do it again you think? Swish that and spit it out."

Eddie does as he's told. The water splatters at his feet, reminding him that there's puke right underneath him, and suddenly the smell becomes unbearable. "No," he says, face screwing up. "Rich, I gotta —" 

Richie anticipates his attempt to stand up. He holds him steady, helps him dodge the mess and then leads him to sit down on a nearby log. He sits beside him and continues to rub his back.

"Sorry," Eddie mumbles. 

"Don't be," Richie says, as expected. "It's okay."

Eddie closes his eyes. It's not as hot under the trees; a breeze rustles through the branches, washing away the sour smell and replacing it with pine and grass and clay. It smells a bit like Derry, and at the same time entirely different. 

"You feelin' a little better?" Richie asks tentatively. He gets so gentle sometimes, when Eddie is upset or hurt or sick, Eddie isn't sure what to do with it or himself. The best option he's found so far is to just enjoy it. 

"Yeah," Eddie says, even though his hands are a little shaky and he absolutely does _not_ want to get back in that car. "We can go in just a minute, I just need — just a minute,"

"Hey, no," Richie cards his fingers back through the front of Eddie's hair, fingernails dragging along his forehead and scalp, and _god_ , Eddie just about purrs. "We can take a break for a bit, we don't have to get right back in."

"Okay," Eddie agrees, feeling grateful for the suggestion. 

Once he's feeling more stable again, they get some snacks out of the car and venture further into the woods. 

The trees feel taller out here than they do back home, although Eddie isn’t sure if that’s true. The crunch of leaves and twigs under his feet and the breeze in his hair feels good and familiar, much better than being trapped in a car, and he doesn't even feel anxious about not knowing where he is. As long as he can faintly hear the freeway everything will be fine. 

They find a grassy clearing and Richie plops down, sighing like he didn't just sit on his ass for hours already. He pulls out a bag of potato chips while Eddie continues to explore around them. There are skinny white birch trees mixed in with all the pine, swaying gently with each gust of wind, and birds nests everywhere he looks. Wildflowers poke through the bark and rocks and fallen branches. The air is fresh and fills him up, clearing him out of worries and fears. 

He turns back to where Richie is now laying on the ground, hands behind his head and one leg resting over the other. He's wearing a Van Halen shirt today, opting for denim shorts instead of skinny jeans, and the same black sunglasses stuck on his face. The chip bag sits next to his head for easy access. His black curls lay over green green grass and little white flowers. Richie has this way of simultaneously sticking out everywhere he goes, yet always looking like he belongs exactly where he is. Eddie marvels at him constantly, and now specifically. He wishes he had a camera but knows he wouldn't be brave enough to snap a picture if he did. Some things are just meant to stay in memory. 

"Hey," Richie says as Eddie sits down next to him, hugging his knees. 

"Hey," 

"How're you feelin'?" 

Eddie twirls a blade of grass between his fingers. "Better," he says. "Thanks." 

"Course," Richie smirks. "Couldn't let ya throw up in my car, could I? I'd never get that cleaned out." 

Eddie rolls his eyes, and Richie reaches out to hold onto his ankle. "You're so annoying." he says.

Richie hums. "You know I love ya, Spaghetti. Just teasing."

Eddie presses a smile into his knee, squinting against the sun. "I know." he says. 

They sit and enjoy the quiet for a few moments. Richie occasionally rubs Eddie's ankle with his thumb, and Eddie closes his eyes, listening to the wind and the woodpeckers. 

Being in nature has always been a solace for him — both of them. Hidden away in the trees where no one would find them. Not their parents, or teachers, or police, or anyone else who might have something to say about what they get up to. Sometimes they'd be together, all the losers, and sometimes it would be just Richie and Eddie. They'd leave their bikes in a bush and keep walking until it was completely quiet, and then they'd just sit. Sometimes they would talk and other times they wouldn't need to. It was just — them. A break from the rest of the world. A place to be nothing at all, together. He's always felt removed from the rest of the world, but when he sits under the trees with Richie, it feels like maybe they have their own. 

Sitting here in the woods in Colorado, it feels the same as Derry. Not the bad parts, though; only the good parts.

"I wonder what the others are doing right now," Eddie says, breaking the silence. 

Richie takes a minute to respond. Eddie would think he was asleep, except for the fact that he's still rubbing his ankle. "Wishing they were with us," he says. "Everyone knows we're the best ones in the group."

Eddie feels the urge to be annoyed with his answer, but he also likes that Richie considers him one of the best ones, so he refrains. "Think they'll come and visit?" 

"Oh, of course," Richie grins. "No one can go too long without seeing your cute face."

Eddie laughs through a sigh, scooting down to lay next to Richie. He stares up at the clouds through the treetops. Richie pushes his sunglasses down a bit to look over at him.

"Are you homesick?" he asks.

"No," Eddie says honestly. "Are you?"

Richie faces the sky too now. His arm drops down to his side, fingers just barely brushing Eddie's. Eddie does his best once again to keep very still. "Nope," Richie says. "I am not."

He sounds like he wants to say more. Eddie looks back at him, and Richie just smiles like he can feel it, but he keeps his eyes on the clouds. 

"I see... a rock," Richie says.

"Excuse me?"

"The cloud," He points up with his other hand. "It looks like a rock."

Eddie snorts. "Richie, all clouds look like rocks."

"No, no," Richie insists. "This one looks _especially_ like a rock. Don't you see it? And that one looks like a pillow."

Eddie looks at him with an amused and exhausted expression. Richie looks back and laughs.

"Look," he says. "I see a rock, and a pillow, aaaaand... oh wow, look at that one right there."

Eddie keeps staring at him. 

" _Look_ ," he insists. 

Eddie does. He sees nothing particularly interesting, but Richie leans closer now, directing his eyes with a finger, cheeks almost touching. Eddie is too distracted to properly search but he tries anyway. "What?" he asks. "I don't see anything."

"Right there," Richie whispers by his face. "Over to the left, above that one."

"Yeah?" Eddie whispers back.

"That looks just like your mom." 

Eddie groans. How did he not see that coming? "Oh my _god_ ," he says. "Fuckin' every time."

Richie laughs, wholeheartedly, carried off in the wind, and Eddie almost kisses him.

But he doesn't. 

After resting a little while they get back on the road. They keep the garlic bread mixtape in, and get out of the mountains, and Eddie feels okay. 

Their next stop is La Taberna, a little mexican restaurant off the freeway with a sign out front advertising Taco Tuesday. The walls inside are murals of beautiful scenery, with arched entryways and tile trim in a pretty aqua colour. There are two large fountains placed in both rooms of the restaurant. They sit at a table by the window and share a basket of chips and salsa, and Eddie does everything in his power to stop it from feeling like a date. 

Richie doesn’t help out much with that, nudging his foot under the table to get his attention, and then continuing to do so while he talks, laughing at everything he says and giving him his undivided attention. 

Sometimes Eddie wishes they weren’t alone so he wouldn’t feel so exposed, drinking up every last drop of it. At one point Richie feeds him a bite of his enchilada off of his own fork, waiting eagerly to see if Eddie agrees it’s the best chicken in the world. He’s sure the table over thinks they’re a couple. It makes him blush a little extra when Richie calls him cute for getting guacamole on his face.

They’re finishing up in comfortable silence when something occurs to Eddie. 

“Richie,” he says. 

“Hm?” The other boy shoves two chips in his mouth at once, sandwiching a pile of salsa. It makes Eddie wrinkle his nose, a little disgusted. 

“Is your aunt fine with you bringing an extra person to live above her house? Does she even know I’m coming?” he asks. 

It’s something he hadn’t even thought about until now, and the worry starts to grow until it’s pressing against his head from all sides. What if she’s not okay with it? Will he have to live by himself in a sketchy apartment with four other roommates? The idea makes him a little nauseous. 

Richie seems to sense his panic, and he quickly takes a big drink of water to swallow down his chips. 

“She knows! Well, kind of,” he says. “She knew I wanted you to come. I asked her if I could convince you to come with me, would it be alright if you lived there too. I was ready to bargain pretty hard for you, Eds, but I didn’t have to — she was on board straight away! Honestly, I think she likes you more than me. Not more than I like you, duh, but more than she likes me.”

Eddie tries to tamp down the growing warmth in his chest. “Really?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Richie drags another chip through the pico de gallo. “She thinks you’re a positive influence I think — said you’re good for me. Frankly, I think you’ve tricked people into thinking you’re a lot more well behaved than you really are.”

Eddie scoffs. “Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?”

Richie takes another huge bite and proceeds to answer with his mouth full, which makes Eddie frown, “Sorry, have you forgotten about the time we hot wired Eric Bergman’s truck and stole it for a whole day before leaving it in the field by his house, when neither of us were old enough to drive yet? Or how about the time we took that liquor from my dad’s garage stash and you got totally wasted on like a quarter of a bottle because you’re miniature, and then we ditched school the next day because you were too hungover still? Perhaps all the times we’ve trespassed on private property, or lied to your mom about some project so you could come over and watch Star Wars for the thousandth time, which by the way was mainly due to you having the hots for Han, don’t even try to deny that now. Or the time —“

“ _Okay_ ,” Eddie lunges forward to cover Richie’s mouth, like the grandma from the next table is going to overhear and call the cops on him or something. 

Richie licks his palm, and Eddie immediately pulls his hand away, groaning about how disgusting he is. 

“For your information, _you_ are the one who convinced me to do all of those things.” he says, wiping his hand on his napkin. “Except the Star Wars thing, that I will admit to.” 

Richie bounces both eyebrows suggestively. “Is he your type then?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “He’s _everyone’s_ type, asshole, that’s not the same thing as having a _type_.”

“Okay, so tell me what your type is.” Richie grins, and he must know his attempt is futile, but it doesn’t stop him from having fun with it. 

“Nice try, but fuck off,” Eddie shoots back

Richie places a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. “You are so _mean_ to me,” he says. “I give you my heart and you crush it in your tiny hands.”

Eddie snorts. “Oh my god, shut up.”

The way Richie says _make me_ with a smirk and a glint in his eye makes his stomach twist. Maybe it’s a good thing no one else is here to tease him about the way his cheeks flush, and the way he so obviously tries to hide it by asking for the bill. 

It's still warm out when they walk back to the car, the air still and slowly cooling around them. The sky is a myriad of colours — blues and purples and oranges and reds, all blending together with milky white clouds, stars already blinking awake. 

"Look," Richie says, so Eddie looks at him.

He's staring up at the sky, the contrast of him illuminated beautifully in the setting sun. His dark hair has a hint of auburn to it now, usual milky skin a more peachy shade, and Eddie is so caught up in it that he doesn't realize Richie is still talking to him. 

"What?"

"The moon," Richie looks at him now, arms folded over his chest comfortably. "It's funny, when the moon and sun are out at the same time. Looks cool."

Eddie nods. Richie smiles a bit, and Eddie can see the sleepiness in his movements, the shadows under his eyes. He still looks as though he'd rather be right here than anywhere else. Or maybe that's just Eddie projecting; but he hopes not.

Richie looks a little bit like the moon, he thinks. 

"M'so _tired_ ," Richie says through a big yawn. "Hey — you wanna drive for a bit?"

Eddie stops at the car, already on his way to the passenger side. "But, you never let anybody drive your car." 

The other boy hums dismissively and shrugs one shoulder. "You're not just anybody." he says. 

Heart in his fist, Eddie nods. "Okay," he says.

Eddie likes driving. It's a little scary at night, and on the freeway, but there's not too many cars out right now so it's not too bad. The moonlight is bright enough now to where the streetlights wouldn't even be necessary, but he's still glad for them. He puts back in the garlic bread mixtape and relaxes to Air Supply and Bonnie Tyler; but not quite as relaxed as Richie, who snores softly in the seat beside him. He's slumped down so his knees fall open and his head hangs heavily to one side. Eddie knows he's gonna be sore when he wakes back up, but there's nothing he can do about it now. 

Richie stays asleep for an hour or so. When he blinks awake, stretching, groaning when he bends his neck, it's to direct Eddie to stop at the next exit. They pull off into a little town that seems mostly residential; a street lined with boutiques, houses up the side of the mountain, and one motel. Which, upon arrival, reveals a glowing neon _no vacancy_ sign. 

"Uhh," RIchie stares at it. "That's not good." 

Eddie blinks. He can feel the thickness of panic rising in his throat already. "What -- where are we supposed to go?" he asks, almost rhetorically, but still hopeful that Richie will somehow have the perfect answer.

Richie doesn't say anything for a minute, trying to work out a solution in his head. "I don't know,"

"You don't _know_?" Eddie leans forward, and then back, gripping the steering wheel tight. "Where do we _go_? Where do we sleep? We can’t keep driving all night!"

"Hang on, I'm thinking," Richie turns the music down. His demeanour is calm, and it should reassure Eddie, but sometimes it just frustrates him. "We could sleep in the car."

Eddie squeaks. "In the _car_? Like outside?"

"Well, Eddie dear, I don't think they'll let us drive it into the lobby."

Eddie scowls at him. "Richie, that's not fucking funny. We can't sleep in the car! We could get robbed, or like, murdered -- someone could break our windows! What if we get _towed_? Or, or the police come! And there's not even a bathroom out here, much less beds, Rich we can't just —"

"Eddie, take a breath," Richie says calmly, but Eddie is too far gone already. The realization that they're in an unfamiliar state at night with nowhere to go suddenly feels suffocating. He knows he's rambling, and that his voice has gone much higher than usual, but he's not entirely sure what he's saying; although he knows he says the words _Richie_ and _stupid_ and _dangerous_ more than a few times. He doesn't realize how shallow his breathing has gotten until Richie is holding his inhaler to his lips. He grabs it and presses down, inhaling deeply. 

"There you go," Richie is saying gently, a hand on his back. "Eddie, babe, I'm not sure we have another choice."

Eddie winces and presses it again. He's shaking his head, but the sinking resignation in his stomach knows that Richie is right. 

"Look," he continues. "We'll park over there on the side, no one will even notice. We'll keep the doors locked, go into the lobby for the bathroom from the back door, they'll just think we're staying at the hotel. We'll be gone when the sun rises. Everything will be fine." His hand is still there, rubbing circles into Eddie's shoulder blade. He waits for a sign of approval even though they both know it's what they have to do. 

Eddie nods slowly, inhaler still held to his mouth.

"It's fine," Richie repeats. "Perfectly safe."

"That's bullshit," Eddie says weakly. "But seeing as there's no other options, I'm gonna pretend I believe you for my sake."

Richie chuckles and drags his knuckles up Eddie's neck. It makes him shiver, but if Richie notices he doesn't mention it.

After sneakily brushing their teeth and changing in the lobby bathroom, they try to get comfortable in the car. Richie lays across the floorboards with a backpack stuffed with clothes under his head; Eddie across the backseats with his pillow. Richie insists they don't need blankets since it's not cold out, and Eddie calls him a sociopath for being able to fall asleep completely exposed, curling up under one of Richie's oversized hoodies. 

He tries to relax. Tries to pretend he’s on a bed, in a locked bedroom or hotel room, anywhere but a dark parking lot. The seats aren’t too uncomfortable, but at the same time _everything_ is uncomfortable. His eyes keep darting to the window and expecting to see a shadowy face leering back at him. 

Richie seems to pick up his obvious nervous energy because he suggests they keep the car on for a bit, so they can listen to music. 

“Can we listen to the garlic bread tape?” Eddie asks. 

He can hear the smile in the other boy’s voice when he says, “Sure thing.” 

Richie sits up and leans forward to turn the car back on, and Eddie’s eyes trace the curve of his back, the bumps of his spine. The place where his shirt rides up looks white in the moonlight that streams through the windows. Eddie wants to reach out and touch it. He doesn’t. 

“There you go,” Richie settles back down onto the floor, Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper now playing softly. 

Eddie hums along, shifting underneath his hoodie to get more comfortable, staring up at the ceiling. It’s not really _that_ bad, he supposes. It could be much worse. He could be alone out here. 

“I like this one best,” he says thoughtfully. 

“This song?” Richie asks from below him. 

“This mixtape,” Eddie rolls to the side. “It has all my favourite songs.” The hum of the engine is soothing, the seats warm beneath him. Relaxation doesn’t seem entirely out of the question anymore. 

“I know,” 

Eddie opens his eyes, which had begun to close despite him not feeling particularly tired, or so he told himself. “You did that on purpose?” 

“Well yeah,” Richie says, like it would’ve been ridiculous for him not to have. “I know how easily you get uncomfortable, thought it would help to have songs you like playing when that happened.”

Eddie is glad Richie can’t see his face, can’t see the sincerity of how _touched_ he is written all over it. He’s going to say thank you, maybe, or something like that, but before he can another thought dawns on him that makes his forehead wrinkle. 

“Why is it called fucking _garlic bread_?”

Richie pauses, and Eddie knows he’s smiling. Knows he’s shrugging even though Eddie can’t see him. “Makes Spaghetti better,” he says, with such casual nonchalance, like it isn’t one of the most endearing things he’s ever said. His voice holds no teasing tone to it. It makes Eddie’s stomach flip. 

“Oh,” he says, more shaky than he’d ever admit. “That’s. Kinda stupid, but... also...” he tries to think of a way to downplay what he feels, but it’s impossible. In the end he settles on, “thanks, Rich.”

Richie hums. “Of course,” he says softly. 

The song is still playing. It feels a little different now, though, knowing that Richie was specifically thinking of him when he chose it, knowing it would calm him down when he felt uneasy. Is he really that predictable? Or does Richie just pay attention? He always tries so hard to obtain such attention that it never occurs to him that Richie might be giving it to him when he doesn’t even know it. This thought sends another wave of questions through his head. 

“Hey,” Richie says. “You hungry? I still have those cereal boxes,” 

Eddie makes an indignant sound. “We already brushed our teeth,” he says. “I don’t wanna go back into the hotel.”

“What if you have to pee?”

“Well, _then_ I’ll go back inside.”

“Or you could just go in that bush — wouldn’t have to go across the parking lot.”

Eddie makes a face that Richie can’t see but is just as theatrical as if he could. “Why the fuck,” he starts. “I — why are you like this?”

Richie laughs. “What?”

“First of all, that’s gross. Second of all, that’s illegal.”

“Oh, come _on_.” Richie insists, taking on a more challenging tone, yet still laced with the amusement Eddie is so familiar with. “You’ve done so much worse than piss outside. Why do you always wanna pretend you don’t like it?”

Eddie huffs. “What? Pissing outside?”

“Doing things you shouldn’t.” Richie says. 

Eddie thinks about this a moment. He hates when Richie has a point, and he knows that in his silence he’s admitted it. 

“You like it when I convince you to do stupid things,” Richie continues. “Otherwise I wouldn’t do it. And neither would you.”

Eddie flounders for something to say. He knows he’s lost the argument, if that’s even what this is, and the funny part is, he doesn’t even _care_. He does like it. Richie knows this, because he knows everything — well, almost everything about him. What he doesn’t know is how badly Eddie wants to do something incredibly stupid whenever he’s near, and the only way for him to ignore it is by doing lots of little stupid things _with_ him, or to impress him, and it’s still never enough. 

“Whatever you say,” Eddie tells him, because he can’t admit that now. If he admits that he might admit everything. 

“I know,” Richie says, and Eddie can just _hear_ the wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” he says. 

_Make me_ , Richie from earlier echoes in his head. 

What he actually says is: “Hey Eddie. Do something stupid.”

Eddie scoffs. “What?”

“Come on. Anything at all. You know you want to.”

And, like always, he’s right. 

Not knowing what else to do, Eddie rolls sharply to the side, landing heavily on top of Richie who makes a guttural _oouff_ when Eddie’s hipbone goes into his gut. Their legs are tangled awkwardly, Eddie’s hands trapped against his chest. The floorboards are barely big enough for one person let alone two. _If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting_ , the song says, filling the car with it. 

Richie laughs, tipping his head back towards the door so Eddie can see the pale glow that lands on his neck. It’s hard to tell where his hair ends and the floor begins. It’s hard to tell where their bodies separate, or if they do at all. It’s cramped and inefficient and not at all how he imagined this going, but in all fairness there wasn’t much forethought put in. 

“Okay, that was less stupid and more just violent.” Richie wheezes. “You’re tiny, how are you fucking crushing me? I swear, you’re much lighter than this when I pick you up,” 

He keeps talking, and Eddie is completely out of his mind. Nothing about his surroundings feels ordinary and somehow it makes it easier for him to feel and think whatever he wants, not bound by any normality, and it’s exhilarating, the rush of thoughts and blood in his head and the lack of fear he suddenly feels. 

“When I said stupid I meant, like, _piss outside_ , or eat cereal and don’t brush you teeth after, or maybe scream if you wanted to I wouldn’t —“ 

But Eddie isn’t finished. 

He cuts off whatever was about to be said by quickly closing the short gap between them, crashing their mouths together in a rushed and uncalculated sort of way. Richie gives a surprised little gasp into his mouth, leg pulling up on reflex, and Eddie’s head spins. 

He pulls away before he can decide whether Richie was kissing him back or not. Just a few inches, close enough to see the glossiness of Richie’s mouth reflecting in the dark, feel his heart hammering against his own — or is that just Eddie’s? It’s hard to tell. His skin feels charged, like someone could electrocute themselves by touching his arm. 

The silence that follows can’t be more than a couple of seconds, but it’s enough for the confidence to drain out of his body and be replaced by a stiff chill. Before he can apologise and scramble up onto the seats, maybe jump out of the car and run away, Richie is sliding a hand to the back of his head and pulling him in again, kissing him hard. 

It’s different this time. Richie knows what he’s doing — knows how to tilt his head, how to suck on Eddie’s bottom lip like it’s the easiest thing in the world. As far as kisses go it’s fairly chaste, from the way Richie so crudely describes them sometimes, but heat still pools in Eddie’s stomach. He feels like every inch of him is on fire. He feels like he’ll burn a hole right through Richie, right through the car, through the ground to the center of the earth. Richie kisses him quietly and determinedly and has no idea. No idea that Eddie is about to set them both on fire. 

When they break apart again, Eddie can’t breathe. Richie has stolen all the oxygen from his lungs through his mouth and he doesn’t give a flying fuck. He could die here right now and be content. Except Richie arches up to place another sweet kiss at the corner of his mouth, and suddenly the prospect that he might get _another_ one is enough to keep him alive. 

Eddie lets out a shaky breath. His eyes are closed, but now he opens one, and the way Richie is staring back at him sets him on fire all over again. He doesn’t dare shift, knowing the blood has rushed to more than just his head. He’s not sure what to do or say and all he wants is to kiss him again, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed, so he doesn’t. 

“Uh,” he says, embarrassed by how fucked his voice sounds after just a kiss (two kisses? three?). “I’m. I’m gonna go piss outside now.”

An unexpected giggle bursts through Richie; he shakes underneath him. The sound makes Eddie want to tear up almost. He’s running too high on emotion — he needs a breath of fresh air. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, Eds.”

Eddie carefully climbs over him, opening the door and stumbling out, leaving Richie on the floor and staring upside down at him. He leans up against the hood of the car; he’s not comfortable enough to wander into the bush and pretend he’s peeing, but hopefully Richie won’t see him up here, given that his head is on the floor. 

“Fuck,” he whispers shakily into the night air. 

God, he’s so hard. So fucking hard. If they were in a hotel room he could jump in the shower and take care of it — not something he’s done thus far, but desperate times call for desperate measures — out here though? He can’t just jerk off in the parking lot with Richie four feet away. The idea makes him shudder. He tries to think of something supremely unsexy to will it away, but his mind keeps travelling back to what just happened; Richie’s hips flush to his, hand on the back of his head, fingers curling into his hair. The way Richie’s throat and collarbone looked in the moonlight, his spit slick mouth, the feeling of him biting on his lower lip. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he repeats. He grips himself through his sweatpants and takes a few steady breaths. 

What does this mean? Richie kissed him back, that part he remembers clearly enough. But why? Could he possibly feel an inkling of the burning in his stomach that Eddie feels always? Could he want in every way there is to want like Eddie does? The thought almost makes him embarrassed, like he’s silly for even considering it. The most likely answer is that Richie was caught up in the moment and likes to kiss. Eddie understands why now — although he’s certain that it wouldn’t feel like _that_ with anyone else. Not for him at least. Richie... 

Eddie finds that he doesn’t much like thinking about it. Whether or not Richie kisses other people the way he kissed Eddie doesn’t change anything, all it does is make him a bit sick to imagine anyway, so he stops. 

When he finally feels cool enough to get back in the car, he finds Richie with his eyes closed. Relieved that he’s fallen asleep, Eddie turns the car off and situates himself back on the seats, underneath Richie’s hoodie once more. He breathes in the smell of it, but only once, and then closes his eyes. 

After a moment or two he hears Richie whisper, “Sweet dreams.” 

“You too,” he whispers back. 

He stares at the ceiling for a long time before falling asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Eddie almost believes it was a dream. Except he can still feel the ghost of Richie’s lips on his, feel Richie’s chest under his hands — and there’s this _thing_ in the air between them. Richie is quieter than usual. He gives Eddie a smile that’s almost shy, which can’t be true because Richie doesn’t _get_ shy, but there it is anyway. They don’t talk much but they play another mixtape so they don’t have to. 

And it’s just — it’s not that Eddie feels _awkward_. Awkward would mean he regrets it, that it was an embarrassing moment he wants to forget; but instead, despite his red cheeks and the fluttering in his chest that would otherwise imply embarrassment, all he wants to _do_ is think about it, relive it over and over. He wants to do it again, for longer this time and in the light. He wants to see Richie’s face more clearly and hear him make noises, wants to push and see how far it can go. 

The fear that Richie doesn’t want him to is the only thing that stops him. 

“God, I stink.” The boy in question says suddenly, lifting an arm to sniff his own armpit. Eddie wrinkles his nose like he always does when Richie is gross. He has a beanie shoved over his curls, sticking out in every direction, t-shirt dirty because it was right at the top of his bag. He still looks good somehow, but he’s right — they both need a shower.

“Yeah you do,” Eddie says. “But how do you suppose we do anything about that?” 

“I was thinking either sponge bath or preening each other like monkeys, what do you think?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I want a shower,” he says wistfully. “I feel dirty — shut _up,_ you know what I mean.”

Richie laughs. “Okay, I do have an idea,” he says. 

He drives them a mile or so down the road and then veers off onto a side path towards the forest, seemingly knowing where he’s going, but Eddie is sure he’s just winging it. There are no cars driving alongside them now, no visible houses. Just tall trees and tall grass and rocks and red clay lining the road. Finally they pull over onto a dusty shoulder. The reeds ahead have been flatted into a path from footsteps, so Eddie knows they aren’t actually lost in the woods, but it still feels secluded. 

“What are we doing?” Eddie asks, already knowing the answer and dreading it. 

“Showering,” Richie says with an easy grin. “Well, more of a bath really. Come on,” he opens his door and climbs out, stretching like he’s been driving for hours and not just twenty minutes. 

Eddie follows hastily. 

The air outside is hot, a dry, earth smelling wind rustling the grass. The trees are bright green, red bark and blue skies. Everything feels extra saturated, but not in a way that’s harsh to look at. Eddie watches Richie lead them down the path, looking black and white in the bright colours. He’s humming as he walks, arms out to his sides, fingers brushing through the reeds. Once again Eddie notices how he stands out and still looks like he’s right where he should be. 

When the trees open up they’re on a riverbank standing on large, flat rocks in all sorts of colours. The river itself is wide and not too deep looking, but seems deep enough to stand submerged in. Water bubbles peacefully downstream, skipping over rocks, glistening in the sunlight. The other side is all trees, with the same grassy path continuing through them. 

Eddie’s head turns automatically towards the sound of Richie dropping his shoes on the rock. He hops a little on one foot, commenting on how warm it is, pulling his shirt over his head clumsily. 

“So are you — we’re just gonna bathe here?” Eddie asks. 

“Yes,” Richie says. “And before you say a damn word: you swam all the time in the lake back home, rivers are cleaner than lakes, swimsuits are the same as being naked when it comes to water, and you’ll acquire more germs by sitting in the car all day probably.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. He’s not sure that’s entirely true, but instead of saying that he asks, “Naked?”

Richie turns back to him with a sly expression. His pants are already unzipped. “How else are we gonna do it?” he asks. And with that he yanks them down with his underwear, and Eddie turns away quickly, cheeks burning. 

“Okay,” he says. “Fine.” He starts to undress slowly, keeping his eyes on a rock on the other side of the river. He hears a loud _splash_ and resists the instinct to look in the direction of it. 

It feels so weird, being naked outside. They used to skinny dip as kids, when Richie finally convinced Eddie that it was the same as wearing shorts, and between Eddie wanting to impress him and not wanting to be left out he always gave in. But they haven’t done it for a few years now and a few years means a lot when you’re young. A few years was the difference between it meaning nothing, just a casual swim, to an adrenaline filled situation making Eddie’s heart race as he avoided _looking_ at all costs. Because god, he wanted to look. 

He steps into the water slowly. 

“ _Fuck_ !” he shrieks. “Fuck, fuck, it’s fucking _freezing_!” 

Richie laughs somewhere behind him. “It’s snow runoff from the mountains,” he says. “Feels good once you get used to it, ‘specially in the sun.” 

Eddie tries not to think about fish swimming around his dick and instead focuses on the sun warming his shoulders, the breeze in his hair and on his skin. He dips his fingers in the water and feels the current. He thinks about how all water is connected, one way or another, and how this may be the same water they swam in as kids. Part of it, anyway. He ducks down and shudders at the iciness, tips his head back and scrubs at his scalp with the pads of his fingers. And then, as if not by his own accord, Eddie turns in the direction of Richie. 

His breath catches. The other boy is standing facing away from him closer to the bank, water up to the backs of his knees. His dark hair is dripping, back glimmering in the light; Eddie follows it down to the slope of his ass, letting himself just _look_ while Richie can’t see him. Eddie thinks, not for the first time, that you could drop Richie into any backdrop and he’d look just as remarkable. Like a secret — like stealing a glance is against the rules. 

Richie falls backwards into the water, arms spread out to his sides once more, and Eddie quickly turns away again. He can hear Richie swimming towards him, towards the middle of the river where it gets deeper. He chuckles and says, closer now, “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten shy,” 

Eddie busies himself with scrubbing his legs, floating in the water with his knees bent. “What do you mean?” he asks. 

“I mean, this isn’t the high school locker room. You’re allowed to look me in the eyes.” 

Eddie isn’t sure looking him in the eyes right now is the best idea, but, there’s no one here and the water is cold enough to prevent anything _too_ embarrassing from happening, so he turns. And Richie is right _there_ again. Where he keeps turning up. Wet and smiling and close, hair in his face and sun behind him and Eddie desperately wants to kiss him again, but he doesn’t. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hey,” Eddie returns the gesture, rubbing at his arms. 

Richie floats around him and Eddie’s eyes track his movements. He keeps getting closer and it’s so hard to not be overly aware of how they’re both naked. The water doesn’t feel so cold anymore, Eddie’s body temperature probably heating it up around them. 

“I love skinny dipping,” Richie says. 

Eddie snorts. “This isn’t skinny dipping, we’re supposed to be bathing, remember?”

Richie, pretending not to hear him, continues, “I wanted to at the hotel, but I was afraid we’d get busted. Usually that wouldn’t bother me but y’know, I really wanted to sleep in a real bed, sooo...”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. He’s stopped trying to clean himself now and is instead treading water in the middle of a circle Richie seems to be swimming in, a circle that gets smaller each time around. Birds chirp loudly in the distance. Wind sends ripples across the water and makes him shiver. “There was a real shower there,” he points out. 

“Not to bathe,” Richie says. “Just to have some fun.”

Eddie’s hands shake anxiously under the water. “Fun?” he asks. “If this is your idea of fun, well I can’t say I’m that surprised.”

Richie snorts and shakes his head. He swims even closer, and Eddie fights the urge to back away from him. “Are you telling me,” he says slowly, teasingly. “That you’re not having at least a little bit of fun right now?”

Fuck. Richie always knows how to trap him. Eddie hates how much he enjoys it — how well Richie knows him; the way he smiles, knowing damn well already what the answer is. 

“Do you not find it at all exciting,” Richie continues. “That you’re completely naked in public?”

“There’s no one even here,” Eddie defends weakly. He can feel his heart pounding. Is it that obvious how much he likes it, or is Richie just fishing for something? 

Closer, closer, closer still, Richie says, “Except for me.”

That’s it. Eddie is a goner. The cold water does nothing to help him now, blood rushing through him at top speeds, hands and ears on fire. He wishes more than anything that Richie would just reach out through the water and touch him, _anywhere_ ; but he doesn’t. Instead he swims around him, knowing how easy it would be to do so. Does he know that Eddie wouldn’t push him away? Is that why he refrains? How is it that the thing Eddie wants more than anything is the thing that terrifies him to think about?

“You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed,” Richie says, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“Shut up,” Eddie replies — his voice comes out a bit shaky. 

Richie bites his lip through a grin. It drives a Eddie fucking crazy. “Sure, babe,” he says. “The second you say it and mean it.”

Eddie groans and splashes him, and Richie laughs, and it makes him smile despite the butterflies still freaking out in his stomach. 

“You know,” Richie says, and there’s this _look_ in his eyes that Eddie knows all too well. “If someone happened to show up right now and saw our clothes on the rocks, they’d think we were up to something.”

“Up to —“ Eddie’s head spins. “Like what?”

“You know,” Richie starts swimming around him again. “They’d probably think we came out here to have sex in the river.”

Eddie chokes on air. He forces a laugh that Richie sees right through, judging by the raise of his eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” he asks because he doesn’t know what else to say. Why is Richie trying to make him _think_ about this? 

The other boy hums. “It’d be a pretty good idea — you know, if two people were trying to have sex. Doing it out in the river.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. He kind of wants to scream. “Sure, I guess.”

Richie shrugs, peering up at him, having ducked down so only his nose and up are out of the water. Eddie wonders if he kept his eyes open and went under, if he’d be able to see Eddie right in front of him. This water is so clear he could probably see him just by looking down. “If someone did show up, would you get out of the water if they were watching?” 

Eddie makes an indignant huff. “ _Richie_ ,” he whines. 

“Just answer the question,” he laughs. 

“No,” he says. “I’d wait until they left probably.”

“What if they were here for hours?”

Eddie makes a _why are you like this_ face, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. “I’d run quick I guess and cover my dick, is that what you want me to say?”

“No,” Richie grins. “What about... if it were me watching? Would you get out of the water?”

Eddie is caught off guard by the question. The answer sticks in his throat, cheeks hot and wide eyes glued on the other boy. “I —“ he starts, but he’s unable to finish, frozen like the glaciers that melted into the river. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to answer,” Richie says. He dunks underwater suddenly, rewetting his hair. Then he shakes off like a dog, water flying everywhere. He washes his face with his hands and Eddie watches, dumbfounded, as he hums like nothing just happened. “Just so you know,” he says. His voice is quiet but no less electric. “If you were watching, I’d get out of the water.” 

He doesn’t wait for a response before going under again. 

Eddie wishes he had his inhaler. 

They finish bathing, swim around a bit, Richie feels around the riverbed and produces a cool looking rock, Eddie flinches and yelps when he feels something against his leg. Conversation goes back to normal — or, well, it would seem that way from the outside. Inside Eddie is still losing his mind over everything, replaying words in his head. 

When Richie stands up to get out of the water, Eddie watches. Richie doesn’t make eye contact, but he’s smirking, and Eddie knows that he knows. 

When Eddie stands up and makes his way over to his clothes, he wishes Richie would turn around and watch him too; but he doesn’t. 

  
  


If you asked Eddie what he thought of thunderstorms, his answer would change depending on the scenario. 

At ten years old, he was terrified of them. The blinding white flashes through the shutters, the sharp crack and rumble that made the walls shake. His mother was insistent that he stay in his room and don’t _ever_ go near water. Alone, in the dark with the covers pulled over his head, he hated them. 

At thirteen years old, underneath the blanket fort they built in Richie’s bedroom, flashlights shining up onto the fabric and shoulders pressed so close, he found he didn’t hate them as much. 

At sixteen, they were at the quarry when the sky turned to black. Eddie was out of the water _immediately_ , the others following close behind, but when sheets of rain poured down it was hard to be scared with Richie laughing so wildly. His hand had latched onto Eddie’s as they ran, yelling at the top of their lungs, feet smacking into the mud. Eddie learned that day that sometimes scary things could be fun, too. 

But now, at eighteen, on the freeway with rain lashing at the windshield, Eddie hates storms once again. He can feel the tires slide on the blacktop just a little every few seconds. The thunder feels too close, like it’s coming right through their speakers instead of staying up in the sky where it belongs. Eddie’s heart feels like it’s going to leap out of his throat with every jerky turn of the steering wheel. 

“Richie,” he says, hands balled into fists in his lap. “We need to stop, we need to stop _right now_.”

“I know, I’m trying I just — fuck, it’s so hard to see,” even Richie looks worried as he says it. He’s leaning forward in his seat as if that will help him see through the rain, but it doesn’t do much good. “Very next exit,” he promises. 

Eddie huffs and tries not to notice how the windshield wipers miss a spot in the middle, leaving a wonky dripping triangle. He squirms in his seat, attempting to think about something, _anything_ that isn’t them hydroplaning and smashing into a tree. 

Of course, his brain goes right back to that morning. The sun on his shoulders; Richie in front of him with that _look_ in his eyes, bare chest leading into the water. He thinks about how close they were to _something_ , he doesn’t even know what. He thinks about what Richie had said, how he smirked when he got out of the water, pretending not to notice that Eddie was watching him. 

He hopes that Richie is watching the road for obvious reasons, but also so he doesn’t see the flush that’s spreading over Eddie’s face at the memories. Richie takes the teasing too far sometimes and it leaves him feeling exposed and achey; like one wrong move and Richie will realise how none of this is a joke to him. Because that’s all this is, right? A joke. A game. Richie isn’t cruel in any sense, he never has been despite his crudeness and insistence in annoying his friends — but he wouldn’t continue this little game if he knew how Eddie really felt. 

He thinks that’s probably the reason he hopes Richie never finds out. 

At the next exit they pull off, just as Richie said, and luckily this time it turns out to be an actual town, with shop lined streets and neighbourhoods stretching back along the mountains. There are too many cars on the road and somehow, this is even worse than the freeway. The lane is too narrow and too wet and people keep running across the street in front of them to duck into dry restaurants. Richie has to step hard on the brake when a woman halfway across slips on the blacktop, just nearly catching herself. No one else seems to be panicking but it feels like absolute _chaos_. Eddie isn’t sure where they’re going or what they’re doing, but if Richie doesn’t stop this car immediately he’s going to throw a fit about it. 

He says so, and Richie just laughs. It makes Eddie scowl. He isn’t joking. 

“Alright, alright,” Richie says. “I’ll just pull over and we can figure it out from there,”

It takes another few minutes to find a place to park. By the time they do, Eddie is white knuckling the edge of the seat — meanwhile Richie calmed the second they pulled off the freeway. Sometimes Eddie loves that about him, the way nothing ever seems to bother him much, but sometimes it’s just annoying. 

“Fine, now what?”

Richie hums, tapping his fingers along the steering wheel. “Guess we’ll have to walk, find somewhere to go in for a bit until the rain stops.”

Eddie groans. “It’s fucking pouring,” he says, like that wasn’t obvious. 

Richie eyes him curiously. He must not want to annoy him further though (a rare occurrence) and instead just turns off the car. “C’mon,” he says. He opens the door into the rain, and Eddie follows, grumbling all the way. 

They head down the street, past restaurants that are too fancy for them to afford, looking for a place to hide out for a little while. Richie’s long legs make him hard to keep up with. Eddie gets distracted by the lights reflecting on the wet pavement, the blur of people and cars and the rain in his face. He doesn’t even see the puddle until he’s sloshing right through it, and it’s deep, pouring right over the tops of his sneakers and soaking his feet. He yelps and jumps right out, but it’s too late. 

“Fuck!” He yells, voice cracking. “Perfect, absolutely fucking perfect.” 

The other boy looks back at him, eyes wide — Eddie can’t tell if he’s concerned or amused or both. He huffs and folds his arms. 

“You good, Eds?” Richie asks. 

“ _No_ ,” Eddie throws his arms out for emphasis. “My feet are _soaked_ , that’s how people catch a cold, Rich. And do you have any idea what’s _in_ this water? Fucking Legionella pneumophila, I’m gonna get Legionnaires' disease. On top of a cold.” 

Richie coughs to cover up a laugh. 

“I’m _serious_ ,” Eddie is close to tears now, and it’s stupid, he knows it is, but he feels tightly wound and now he’s _wet_ and it’s all just too much suddenly. 

“Okay, it’s okay,” Richie says. He reaches his hand back and Eddie takes it. “Let’s go find somewhere dry, alright? Before you catch a cold. And Legolas disease.” 

“ _Legionnaires'_ disease,” Eddie sniffles, but lets Richie pull him away from the puddle. 

“Right, that.” Richie says. 

Eddie focuses on Richie’s fingers in his, stares at his back and trusts him to lead them to safety, all the while ignoring the awful _squelch_ when he steps. He feels like he’s walking with two wet sponges tied to his feet. It makes him want to crawl out of his skin. He squeezes Richie’s hand, feels him squeeze back. It seems like forever that they’re walking but soon enough, Richie is pulling him through the glass doors of a bookstore, the chill of the rain being replaced by the chill of air conditioning. It’s bustling with people who had the same idea; the connecting coffee shop is packed. Eddie feels a spike in his anxiety but at least he’s not being drenched anymore. 

“What did I tell ya?” Richie asks, sounding pleased. “The perfect spot to wait out the storm.” 

He lets go of Eddie’s hand now, and Eddie misses it right away. The lack of contact makes him frown, remembering everything still going wrong, despite being out of the rain now. 

“Yeah, perfect,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s freezing in here when you’re soaked. And all the tables are full — Richie I can’t just walk around in these shoes, we should’ve just waited in the car or something.”

Richie wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Let’s check back here,” he says. “There might be somewhere to sit.”

So Eddie follows him as he always does, weaving past tables of bestsellers and people holding lattes and closed umbrellas, into the tall shelves near the back, where it’s far less crowded. Richie stretches his arms out to reach both shelves, dragging his hands along the spines of the books as they venture through M-P of the nonfiction section. His shirt, dark green now looking almost black from dampness, clings to his back. His hair is drying even curlier and a bit frizzy, almost wild looking now. There are pros to walking behind Richie. Eddie is free to look, to save every detail in his head — not that he needs to remember him. Richie is always right there beside him. Still, though. Eddie has a thousand photo albums in his head of how Richie looks in every situation, every backdrop, every mood. 

“Voila!” the boy in question exclaims, stopping abruptly. In front of them sits a long cushioned bench positioned in front of the window, giant raindrops still splattering against it. “ _Do_ take a seat, monsieur, we’ll get you all ship shape once more.” he says with a terrible french accent. 

Eddie snorts, though despite his persistently crabby mood he is grateful to stop putting any weight down on his sponge shoes. He drops onto the bench with a sigh. Richie immediately squats down and starts to untie his sopping laces. 

“ _Rich_ ,” Eddie pulls his feet back. “I can’t just take my shoes off in here, come on!”

“Yes you can,” Richie grabs for his foot, untying a sneaker with one hand. “If you don’t you’ll be miserable the whole time.”

Eddie, unfortunately, can’t argue with him there. He even tries — protesting weakly when Richie pulls the wet shoes off of his feet, but the relief he gets from it stops him in his tracks. 

“Good god,” Richie says, nose wrinkling again. “Wet feet stink.”

Eddie kicks at him faintly. “Shut up,” he says. “Your feet smell all the time and you have no excuses for it.” 

“Dry smelly feet are just a side effect of Big Dick Syndrome,” Richie says easily. He works to peel off Eddie’s drenched socks, sticking them back into the shoes. 

“Well, you’re certainly that.” Eddie replies. 

Richie looks up at him, wet hair stuck to his face, mouth quirked up in a half smile. “Feisty,” he says. “I like it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, ignoring the way his cheeks warm. “You’re so annoying,” 

Richie, still grinning, takes Eddie’s feet and places them atop his own thighs. He pulls the bottom of his shirt forward and starts to dry them off — the fabric is still a bit wet itself, but it does the job. Eddie isn’t sure what to say. The gesture feels too fragile to break by acknowledging, so he just lets it happen, watches Richie’s focused expression as he warms them up. When Richie is finished he looks back up at him. 

“There,” he says. “Now you won’t get lounge-chairs disease.”

“Legionnaires' disease,” Eddie says tiredly. He doesn’t mention that if he caught something the germs are already there and it won’t matter now. He’s happy to have semi-dry feet again. “Um. Thanks. But there’s no way I’m walking around this nasty floor with no shoes on, people track all kinds of shit in here. I could step on broken glass or something.”

“Why the fuck would there be broken glass on the floor of a bookstore?” 

“I don’t _know_ ,” Eddie huffs. “But I’m not risking it. I’ll just sit here on this bench until the rain stops.” 

Richie stands back up. “Absolutely not,” he says, turning around. “Climb aboard the Trashmouth Express; a scenic journey around the vast lands of the bookstore.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?” 

Richie nods. “Hop on, Eds.”

Eddie, against his better judgement probably, hoists himself onto Richie’s back, clinging to his shoulders while Richie’s hands hold under his thighs. Their shirts are still damp, clinging uncomfortably between them now. It’s chilly in the air conditioned room but warm under Eddie’s chest and hands. He tries not to think about it too much. 

“Wait — what about my shoes?” he asks suddenly. 

“Eddie, no one is gonna see a pair of ratty old sopping wet Converse and think, _ooh, it’s my lucky day_!” 

Eddie grumbles something that isn’t really a response, and Richie carries him off down an aisle of books, leaving the shoes behind. They’ll pick them up before they leave. 

They browse the science-fiction first, which is really just blurting random names that jump out at them and reading out bizarre space facts; occasionally Richie will bounce him up as he starts to slip, getting a better grip on his thighs, which Eddie also tries not to think about too much. 

“Rich, if I’m too heavy —“

“ _Heavy_? I forgot you were even there, you just feel like a warm backpack.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “ _Anyway_ , if it’s getting too uncomfortable you can put me back on the bench.”

“Nah,” Richie says, and Eddie can hear it in his voice, the smug grin he’s wearing right now, “Not uncomfortable. You can ride me anytime.”

Eddie flicks him hard on the back of the head. 

“Ow!”

“Shut the fuck up, Richie.” 

Richie snickers. “Fine, jeez. This backpack is violent.” 

When they get bored of the sci-fi section, they start to make their way over to the magazines and comics — only the aisle they pass through to get there is far more interesting to Richie. 

“Holy shit,” he says. “They’ve got porn here??”

“They’re erotic novels, Richie,” Eddie says, patience dwindling. “It’s not just _porn_ , it’s like... a book.”

“But it’s got sex in it.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then it’s porn.” Richie laughs. 

“Okay, yes,” Eddie says. “But it’s like — really tailored to women usually, and not that interesting, and there’s no pictures.”

Richie pulls a book down from the shelf titled _Another Chance For Love_. He opens it with one hand, still holding Eddie up with the other. “You sound like you’ve definitely read these before, Edwardo.” 

Eddie flushes even though Richie can’t see him. “I was thirteen, found my mom’s... I figured if I got heated reading it then I wasn’t really gay.”

Richie snorts. “You read your _mom’s porn?_ ”

Eddie smacks the back of his head lightly. “Shut up, I was curious.” he says, more defensive than he probably needs to be. 

Richie flicks through the pages quickly. “I imagine you didn’t _get heated_ then,” he says, teasing tone unwavering but also unthreatening. 

Eddie thinks back to being thirteen. He remembers the anxiety, the curiosity, overthinking everything and at the same time being blissfully unaware of so much. He remembers feeling his heart race when a certain snarky boy touched him for a little longer than necessary. He remembers reading a chapter of the book, searching desperately for the same thing he felt earlier that week, when Richie had pinned him down and tickled his sides. That same pull in his stomach when Richie sat straddling his hips, laughing at his flushed cheeks and shortness of breath. 

“No,” he says. “I did not.”

Richie hums. “Maybe it’s because of the shitty writing,” he says. “Listen to this — _my supple breasts tingled with anticipation_.”

“ _Richie_ ,” Eddie presses his foot into his side to quiet him. “No, it was because I was gay, asshole.”

“ _He caressed me softly, like a breeze that smelled of musk and aftershave_.” 

“Alright it’s... not great.” Eddie agrees. “But I’m not gonna judge, some people really like this stuff.”

“Yeah, I bet your mom enjoyed it a little too much.”

Eddie’s face screws up. “Shut _up_ , I don’t wanna think about that.”

“Let’s try a different one,” Richie shifts Eddie up again and sticks _Another Chance For Love_ back on the shelf, pulling out another paperback with a picture on the cover of a shirtless man’s torso next to the furry torso of a wolf, titled: _The Beast Within_. “Holy shit. He’s gonna be a fucking werewolf, isn’t he?” Richie laughs. “Is this your type, Eds?”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie grabs it from his hands and shoves it back in, but Richie is quick to select another, opening it to the middle. 

“ _He eyes me with lustful intensity_ ,” he reads. “ _Big hands reaching out to hold onto my waist_.”

Eddie grumbles like he’s annoyed, but he doesn’t take the book. He supposes it’s not _that_ bad when the focus is off of the woman. 

“ _His fingers slide under my shirt_ ,” Richie continues. “ _Touching every inch of me, and I shiver with sensitivity underneath him_. _I’ve waited long enough for this and now I’m all his_.”

Eddie swallows. It’s... _different_ , hearing the words in Richie’s voice, feeling his shoulders move with every breath. _All his_. He can feel the familiar pull in his belly as his mind wanders against his will. Richie continues on, oblivious. Thankfully this part of the store is deserted in favour of the cafe. 

“ _I moan as his lips attach to my neck,_ ” Richie says, voice low, and Eddie feels his fingers dig into his shoulders. “ _Then he kisses me like his life depends on it_.”

Eddie doesn’t trust himself to speak, too caught up now in his imagination, but he lets out a _hmph_ to keep up the act of disapproval. Most of his brain is focused on _not getting hard_ while clinging to his best friend’s back, so there’s no room for anything more clever. A task that proves more challenging every sentence — Richie is having too much fun with this. He repeats the cheesy dialogue with different voices, voice breathy and dramatic, and it’s _doing things_ to Eddie that he can’t stop. 

“ _He slips his fingers into my pants and pulls them down, leaving me exposed, then holds onto me and grinds his hips forward. I let out a euphoric moan at the contact_ ,” Richie says, moaning for effect, and that’s _it_. 

“ _Richie_ ,” Eddie chokes. “Jesus, someone is gonna hear you.” His whole body feels hot and he _knows_ that if he shifts at all, Richie will be able to tell. 

Richie, of course, ignores him. 

“ _I pull his down too, and take his hard and throbbing dick into my hand_ ,” 

Eddie covers Richie’s mouth abruptly with a squeak. Richie laughs against him, and Eddie can feel his mouth move against his palm. It’s fucking infuriating. “Shut _up_ ,” he says. 

Richie tries to say something but it’s muffled. Eddie moves his hand. “What? I’m just appreciating literature.” he says, much too amused. “You’re enjoying it.”

“I am not,” Eddie insists, but he fucking _is_ and Richie can _tell_ and he wants to smack him for being so annoying and also maybe crawl into a hole. 

“Really? _I’m_ enjoying it,” Richie says, and well, that’s — that’s something Eddie wasn’t prepared to know. “Except, I gotta ask, do straight couples actually refer to dicks as _pulsing member_ or _love stick_?” 

Eddie makes a face. “I fucking hope not,” he says. “Can we go look at the comics now?”

“What, you don’t wanna know how he makes love to her until she’s trembling and satisfied?” Richie asks. 

Eddie tugs on his hair. “Come on,” he says. 

Richie puts the book back and adjusts his grip. “Demanding and cute,” he says. “I can get on board.”

Eddie groans. “ _Richie_ ,” 

“Love it when you say my name,”

“I’m gonna fucking choke you.”

“Kinky.”

“Richie, I swear to fucking _god_ ,” 

Richie laughs. “Alright, alright, we can go look at the comics, Spaghetti. But only ‘cause I love you.” 

Eddie flicks his ear for good measure because he doesn’t know how to respond. 

  
  


Once the storm has passed, they get back on the road. The sun is out now, sitting low in the sky in front of them, warming the streets and drying windshields. R.E.M is playing, everything is calm and happy — but Eddie can’t relax. He feels tense, moody and in need of a hot shower, or... _something_. A jog, maybe. Some coffee. He keeps fidgeting in his seat, unable to get comfortable with the seatbelt strap rubbing against his neck, and _annoyed_ by every little thing. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been in the car for so long. When’s the last time they ate? All he can think about is getting in the shower and Richie beside him and _Richie in the shower_ and _fuck_ — that doesn’t help the little problem that’s been nagging at him since the bookstore. Or this morning, at the river, or _last night_ when they _kissed_. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eddie groans. “Do we have to have the air on so high? I’m fucking freezing.”

Richie turns it down a little, still humming along to Man On The Moon. “Better?” he asks. 

Technically, no. Eddie does not feel any better. He hums noncommittally and slides down in his seat, attempting to get more comfortable, but it doesn’t work. 

The next thing that sets him off is Richie singing the wrong lyrics to the song on purpose. Usually he’s charmed by Richie’s humour and improv skills, especially when they’re used to make him laugh specifically, but right now it just _bothers_ him. He frowns and tries to ignore it, but Richie gets louder. 

“God, can’t we just listen to the song?” Eddie asks with a huff. 

Richie glances over at him, eyebrow raised. “What, you don’t like my singing?” he teases. 

Eddie stares ahead, arms folded over his chest, and he knows he’s being difficult but he doesn’t even care. “I would just rather listen to the _actual_ lyrics.” he says. 

In response, Richie starts singing the _actual_ lyrics even louder. Eddie rolls his eyes. 

“Alright, what’s wrong?” Richie asks. “Why are you in a bad mood?”

Eddie’s scoffs. “I’m not in a bad mood,” he says, and his tone definitely says otherwise. “I just like this fucking song and I can’t even hear it over you.”

Richie studies him a bit, expression somewhere between curious and amused and concerned. Eddie hates it. Hates that Richie can see right through him, knows that he’s complaining just for the sake of it, and will inevitably try to make it better. Sometimes he wants to just feel mad for no reason. 

“Watch the fucking road, Richie.” he says with his eyes still trained ahead. 

Richie does. “Do you wanna listen to —“

“No,” Eddie snaps. “I don’t need to listen to _garlic bread_ , can’t you just let me be sometimes? I’m _fine_.”

Richie scoffs too now, but it’s more of a laugh, which drives Eddie crazy. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll pretend you don’t want the attention and let you ride out your crankiness.”

Eddie’s scowl deepens. “I am _not cranky_ , I’m —“ 

He’s cut off by a rattling sound, followed by a _crack crack_ , and the car slowing down. His heart rate picks up immediately. 

“Richie?? What’s happening?” 

“Fuck, I dunno!” he says, steering them off the road and into a dirt shoulder. 

The car splutters to a stop unceremoniously. The music stops. It’s completely quiet for a moment. 

Then Eddie groans loudly. “Great, fucking great!” he says. “What happened? Did we run out of gas? What do we do now??”

“We didn’t run out of gas,” Richie opens his door and climbs out, Eddie following close behind. “It’s probably a battery thing, it’s pretty old,” he says. “We’ll need a jumpstart.”

The road is practically desolate right now. There’s nothing to see but mountains in the distance and red rocks and dry grass. It would be relaxing, maybe, if they weren’t stranded. Eddie paces back and forth, trying to calm his breathing. This cannot be happening. He grabs his inhaler and leans back against the side of the car, taking a few puffs. The metal is warm against his back, seeping through his shirt and into his shoulders, but it does little to calm his nerves. 

“Okay,” Richie says, coming around again. “I’ll leave the hood open, someone will see it and pull over to help.”

Eddie coughs. “God — _fuck_ , we could be waiting here for _hours_!” 

“Hey, relax,” Richie stretches. “I’m sure —“

“Did you just tell me to fucking _relax_?” Eddie snaps. 

Richie, noticing his mistake, merely sighs. “I’m just saying —“ 

“No, no,” Eddie takes another puff. “Please, tell me why I should be staying calm when we’re fucking _stranded in the middle of nowhere_ with our only hopes of survival being a random stranger? That we _hope_ will show up? What if _no one_ shows up?”

“Eddie —“

“What if a fucking _serial killer_ shows up and pretends to fix our car but actually just kills us out here where no one will ever find us?”

“ _Eddie_ , seriously —“ 

“Fuck off, Richie. I don’t wanna hear why I should be calm about this.”

Richie shakes his head. “I know this is shit,” he says. “But panicking won’t make it any better. We just have to wait.”

Eddie scowls. “I’m not panicking to make it better, asshole, I’m panicking because I’m _panicking_.”

“Well, you don’t have to be mad at me for it.” Richie leans into the car for his bottle of water, taking a long swig. He offers the bottle to Eddie who just scowls harder. “And you don’t have to be a brat, although it’s kinda cute.”

Eddie scoffs and folds his arms. “I’m not being a brat,” he says. “Fuck you.”

Richie grins. He tosses the bottle back in the car. “Yes you are,” he says. “The screwed up face, the posture, the way you make your voice do that thing. You’re acting pissed at me even though you’re not.”

“Maybe I am,” Eddie argues, glare unwavering. 

“Nah,” Richie stretches his arms up and then takes another step closer. “You’re not mad at me, ‘cause you’d tell me exactly why if you were. You’re just... I dunno; tired, hungry, horny. Something like that.”

Eddie bristles visibly. He looks away, hoping it went unnoticed, but out of his peripheral he can see Richie’s grin grow and thinks, _oh fucking great_. 

“Ohh, that’s it isn’t it?” Richie says, and his voice has taken on a new tone. “You are horny.”

“Shut up, Richie.” 

“You’ve been horny since the bookstore, right?” he teases. “You were on my back, after all, I could feel —“

“Shut the _fuck up_ , Richie,” Eddie practically yells at him. He does not have the patience for this right now. 

Richie, unfazed, steps even closer. “Aw, baby is grumpy ‘cause he’s horny,” he says. 

“I’m gonna kill you in your sleep.” Eddie says. It doesn’t sound threatening in the slightest. He takes one last puff of his inhaler before shoving it into his pocket. 

Richie laughs. He reaches out and runs a finger up the side of Eddie’s neck. It’s meant to be casual and playful, but the effect is instantaneous — Eddie shivers and lets out a small whimper. He can feel his face flush all the way down his neck. 

Richie’s face changes. His smile drops, eyes going a little darker. “Oh,” he says softly. “You’re — huh.” 

“Richie,” Eddie’s voice comes out squeaky. “Please, I’m —“

Richie drags three fingers this time up his neck, the touch feather light, his eyes trained on Eddie’s face. Eddie bites his lip to hold back a soft whine, but it doesn’t help much. His eyes shut tight. This is fucking mortifying. 

“Eddie,” Richie says, stepping closer still; his voice is _too soft_ and _too low_ and it makes his stomach flip. 

Eddie doesn’t answer. He still has his eyes closed, so he doesn’t see it coming when Richie ducks forward and attaches his lips to his neck. Eddie jolts and gives a small gasp. 

“Wha — _oh_ ,” Eddie pushes forward and Richie is _there_ , pressing against him, chest to chest, hands on his shoulders, kissing his neck. Richie hums and the sound reverberates through him. It’s absolutely _maddening_ , the feel of him everywhere. Eddie moans openly, head tipping back against the car door. His hands shoot out to grab Richie’s biceps, fingers tightening on his sleeves, as he lets himself melt into the feeling. 

Richie pulls back just barely — Eddie can still feel his breath against his throat. His hands slide up to replace his mouth then, cupping his neck gently with his thumbs on Eddie’s jaw. Then he kisses him. Hard. 

Eddie’s stomach drops. He whines against Richie’s mouth, hips bucking forward. They can’t go far because Richie is _so close_ , pressing him against the car, long legs boxing him in. Eddie grips the front of Richie’s shirt desperately and pulls him even closer. He feels sandwiched between heat; hard metal on the back of him and soft _Richie_ on the front of him, everywhere, thumbs stroking his jawline as they kiss. Richie slips his tongue in and Eddie just about blacks out. The sound he makes is embarrassing, but it only spurs Richie on — his hips shift to push more firmly against Eddie’s, and the new angle feels like a fire has been lit inside him. Richie tugs gently on his bottom lip and Eddie thinks he hears a seam pop in Richie’s shirt from how hard he pulls. He decides to slide his hands up into Richie’s hair and, _oh_ , that’s much better. He wraps his fingers into dark, messy curls, and the next time Richie swipes his tongue Eddie squeaks, pulling on them instead. Richie responds by moaning lowly and rolling his hips forward. 

Eddie breaks the kiss to gasp, jerking forward to chase the friction. “Rich,” he whispers frantically.

“Yeah,” Richie says. His voice sounds fucked already and it makes Eddie _ache_. He meets the movements firmly, grinding forward, and Eddie’s knees buckle slightly. Richie kisses him again, and again, and again, the last one long and deep. 

Eddie would slide down the side of the car probably if Richie weren’t holding him there with his body. For the countless times he’s imagined this moment, it was never _quite like this_ — nothing he could come up with compares to actually kissing Richie. Or rather, being kissed by Richie. And of course, they’ve kissed before, once, but this is _different_. This is hungry and bruising and Eddie feels like he might come in his pants any second with the way Richie is holding his face and licking into his mouth. 

He’s saved from such a fate by the sound of tires skidding in dirt. 

They both jump, breaking apart, Eddie pushing on Richie’s chest with shaky hands so he stumbles back. Around the side of the car a blue truck has parked, and an older man wearing coveralls slams his door shut. 

“Do you need help?” he asks. “Did your car break down?” 

Richie clears his throat. “Yes, thank you!” 

Eddie knows that this man won’t hear the change in his voice, but Eddie does, and that’s enough to keep him hidden behind the car catching his breath. How Richie is managing to have a conversation right now is boggling to Eddie. 

“I think it’s the battery, probably. There was no smoke or anything,” Richie is saying. 

“Ohh,” The man says. “My name is José, I have an auto shop in town, ten miles away or so. I keep jumper cables in my truck just in case. I can help you.”

“Oh great! Thanks so much.” 

Eddie finally collects himself enough to head around the car and stand next to Richie, who’s still breathing heavy. He tries not to look, to be too obvious, but it’s so _hard_. Speaking of hard, he hopes José doesn’t notice the obvious bulges both of them are sporting. 

“Great luck,” Richie says under his breath. Eddie can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. 

And just — this can’t be _it_. This can’t be like last night, one kiss and then not talking about it again. This was so much more than just a quick kiss easily brushed off; Eddie is itching to reach out and touch him again, and he might if they were alone. But they’re not. So he doesn’t. 

“My son works with me,” José says. “My Ricardo — I’m teaching him to do everything I do, so one day he can have the whole business. I’m not getting younger!” He laughs good-naturedly, fingers stroking his moustache as he rummages through the back. 

Richie gives a polite chuckle back. “Right,” he says. Eddie could almost laugh at how spacey he sounds, if he didn’t feel the same. 

“Not you,” José says. “You are both young, my son’s age probably. Ricardo says he doesn’t want to go to college, so is why I’m making sure he can run the shop, you know, make sure he’s taken care of. Ah! I found the cables, I knew I had them.”

Richie just hums and nods. “Great,” he says. 

José heads back over to them, cables on his shoulder. “Okay, you —“ he points to the cars. “Get ready, I plug these in, you try to start.” 

Richie climbs into the driver’s seat as José attaches the cables. Eddie stands awkwardly to the side. They try a few times, and then on the fourth turn of the key the car comes rattling back to life, eliciting a small whoop of victory from José. 

“There you go, my friends!” He says happily, shutting the hood and giving it a slap. 

“Awesome!” Richie says. “We really appreciate it.” 

Eddie, realising he hasn’t spoken once, nods and says, “Yeah, thanks.” 

“No problem, lucky I saw your hood open! No good to wait in the sun for too long.” José tells them, then shakes both of their hands, wishing them a good day. 

And then he’s gone. And they’re alone again. 

Eddie gets in the car, buckling his seatbelt, staring ahead. His heart is pounding in the silence. Richie sits quietly for a moment with his hands on the wheel until he lets out a rushed sigh, looking over. Eddie looks back at him. He feels like melting under the intensity of it, but he stands his ground, too desperate to convey what he’s thinking to let it drop so quickly: _I didn’t want to stop._

Richie looks away again, stepping on the gas and hightailing it out of there. 

They only have to drive for another forty-five minutes or so to get to the next hotel. It’s an excruciating forty-five minutes. They’re silent the whole way — nothing but the sound of the engine and Billy Idol to distract from the thick and growing tension between them, and it doesn’t distract at all. When Eddie looks over at him, Richie’s jaw is clenched. He’s looking ahead determinedly, arms straight and gripping the wheel tight. Quite frankly, he looks fucking hot, and it takes all of Eddie’s willpower to sit still instead of doing something stupid like climb into his lap while he’s driving. 

They’re still quiet when they park — quiet when they check in, when they carry their bags up to their room and let the door click shut, leaving them in an even louder silence. 

Eddie doesn’t even have time to set them down before Richie is shoving him against the wall. 

The bags drop from his hands and land with a _thud_ on the carpeted floor as Richie takes his face in big hands once more, kissing him fervently, like he couldn’t stop if he tried. His glasses get knocked crooked. He presses close and slots a leg between Eddie’s, and Eddie _moans,_ slips his arms around Richie’s neck and just hangs on, tries to kiss back with as much energy. He almost can’t keep up with it. He feels consumed by Richie — his mouth, his hands, his thigh pressing against him. Everywhere, all over him, and he can’t fucking get enough. 

And then Richie shifts a little; boxes Eddie’s hips in and grinds forward. The feeling is enough to make his knees weak. They both moan this time, into each other, and Eddie tips his head back for Richie to mouth at his neck again.

“Rich,” he whimpers. “I’m — you’re — _oh_ ,” 

Richie’s hands slide up under Eddie’s shirt, the touch burning right through his chest. He grinds forward again, this time a little more deliberate, and lets out a sound that Eddie is sure he’ll never forget as long as lives. His palms move to grip Eddie’s slender waist, pulling him into another searing kiss. “Fuck,” he whispers against the corner of his mouth. “Can I take this off?” 

Eddie nods frantically. He raises his arms and allows Richie to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it back onto the bed — Eddie wonders if he purposely didn’t drop it on the floor, knowing he’d hate that. “Yours too,” he says. 

Richie tugs his own shirt off and throws it over his shoulder. 

Eddie has seen him shirtless before. Of course he has, countless times. But there’s something _different_ about it now — the fact that he’s allowed to look, the way Richie’s flushed chest heaves with each breath. “You’re so hot,” he says, blushing despite the circumstances. 

Richie laughs. “You too,” he replies. He kisses Eddie again, hands back on his waist. 

Eddie threads his fingers through his hair, tugging him even closer. Now that he’s allowed to _want_ , he wants desperately, with an ache in his belly that only grows the more of him he touches. Every time Richie breaks for air Eddie is chasing him, eager to get his mouth on him again. Richie ruts his hips forward with particular accuracy and Eddie feels a shudder run through him. 

“Richie,” he gasps. The pleasant feeling between his legs has now grown to an almost painful ache, his dick straining hard against his pants. 

Richie simply rolls forward again, kissing his jaw. “What do you need?” he asks. 

Eddie whines and presses his face into Richie’s neck. He’s gripping him so tight now, practically shaking from it, breathing high and raspy. 

“Eddie,” Richie says. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you. Gotta use words.”

Eddie yanks a little harder on his hair, which makes Richie groan and his hips stutter. “Touch me,” he says. “Rich, _please_ , I’m gonna fucking die.”

Richie chuckles and slips his fingers into Eddie’s pants. He pulls them down just a little, so the head of his cock is trapped by the waistband, and grinds forward again. The feel of his jeans against Eddie is almost painful but _so good_. He whimpers, but before he can complain about being teased, Richie slides his hand down and wraps it around him. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Eddie jerks forward with the lurch in his stomach. Every nerve in his body feels like it’s on fire because Richie is actually _touching_ him, _finally_. It’s dry, and his fingers are a little rough, but Eddie doesn’t care one bit. He doesn’t care how desperate he seems either, rutting up into his fist and groaning into his shoulder, he just wants anything Richie will give him no matter how embarrassed he’ll be later. 

When Richie pulls away suddenly, Eddie lifts his head and lets out a frustrated whine. “Richie, what the fuck, I’m —“ he halts when he sees the other boy lick his palm obscenely, reaching back down between them. It’s smooth and wet now and Eddie is sure he’s seeing stars. “ _Oh_ —oh my god,” he says shakily. 

Richie strokes him firmly and uses his free hand to lift Eddie’s thigh, resting it against his own hip, fingernails digging into the muscle. He kisses him hard and sucks on his bottom lip, catching all of the broken sounds he makes eagerly. 

Eddie can’t think straight. Richie’s hair is falling into his face and tickling his nose, wrist twisting and thumb swiping over the tip of his dick, like he’s done this a thousand times. He knows he’s not gonna last long. He tries to say so, but when he opens his mouth to speak it comes out as a whine instead. Richie lifts his leg up even higher and tightens his grip. He moves to kiss his neck again, open mouthed and loving, and that’s all Eddie can take. On the next pump of Richie’s fist he’s coming between them, over his knuckles. He moans Richie’s name as he does and arches further into him. 

Once he’s finished, he slumps into him. Richie is still jerking him slowly through it, still holding his leg, still kissing his jaw. Eddie presses his face into Richie’s chest. “Oh god,” he says — his voice is wrecked. “I didn’t mean to come so soon, but I... I haven’t gotten off all week.”

“All _week_?” Richie sounds incredulous. “Fuck, no wonder you were being a brat. I’m surprised you weren’t even brattier.”

Eddie is about to hit him in retaliation, but then he feels Richie’s hips flinch forward and remembers. “Shit! I didn’t even — you’re still hard. How the fuck did I come before I even got to see you?” 

Richie chuckles and slowly sets his thigh down. “You can see me now,” he says. “And if you get hard again I’ll gladly do this all over again.”

Eddie feels something twist in his belly at the implication of this being a regular thing. He pushes back on Richie’s chest a little so he steps back. He looks down between them, wrinkling his nose when he does. “God, I’m a mess.” he says. 

“I know,” Richie says. “It’s so hot.” He takes Eddie’s hand and pulls him back to the bed, grabbing his own t-shirt to clean his hand and Eddie’s stomach and dick, all the while looking ready to burst out of his skinny jeans. 

“How are you so —“ Eddie starts. “Like how have you not —?” 

“Hm? Oh,” Richie grins and drops the soiled shirt. “I mean, I get off like every fucking day. I’m less pent up than you were. Believe me though I’m — I’m close too.”

Eddie gapes at him. All this time Richie has been jerking it in the shower while Eddie obliviously waits for him to get out? “How...”

Richie shrugs. “You get bratty when you’re horny, I get annoying.” 

Eddie blinks. “But you’re always annoying,” he says, like muscle memory. 

Richie laughs. “Yeah, around you,” he winks, and then sits back on the bed, still holding onto a dazed Eddie’s hand. “You gonna let me kiss you again or do you just wanna stand there?” he asks. “Because I can get in the shower to take care of this —“ 

“No!” Eddie snaps back to reality, allows himself to be pulled closer. “No, I wanna see. I wanna touch you.”

Richie groans and tugs him the rest of the way in, scooting back on the bed for Eddie to climb on. He kisses him, not as hard but just as thorough, and Eddie melts yet again. Richie shimmies his jeans and underwear down just enough before Eddie is climbing on top of him. Copying what Richie did mere minutes ago, he licks his palm — Richie lets out a shuddery moan just at the sight. Eddie looks down at him before touching and his breath hitches. Richie is _so hard_. Like, harder than Eddie thought was possible, and he’s _long_ , too, dark red and leaking against his hip. There’s a flush over his whole body. His hair is stuck to the sides of his forehead, lips swollen. He’s so _gorgeous_ that Eddie almost forgets what he’s doing, content to just sit here and look forever. But Richie interrupts his train of thought. 

“As pretty as you are when you’re all zoned out,” he says. “I’d really appreciate it if you touched my dick before I literally come untouched from the way you’re looking at me.”

Eddie complies immediately. He hovers over Richie and wraps a hand around him, the other one holding himself up. Richie steadies his arm with one hand while the other one moves to stroke up his side. _He’s one to talk, while he’s looking at me like that_ , he thinks. He starts to pump eagerly and marvels at the way Richie’s face changes. The way he catches his lip between his teeth, the way his brows furrow and his cheeks go a darker shade. He’s never done this for anyone else before, but this isn’t just anyone else, this is _Richie_ , so he focuses hard on making it feel good. His hand moves quick and slick, twisting the way Richie had done for him. He can’t even remember what he likes when he touches himself. All he can think is how lovely Richie looks like this. Hot, yes, obscene, but also just so _beautiful_. Open and genuine in a way he’s never seen before. When Richie starts saying his name, low and breathy, getting hard again is not out of the question. 

“Is it good?” Eddie asks quietly. He squeezes his fist, eyes roaming all over him. 

“ _So_ good, Eds,” Richie groans, hips lifting off the mattress, chasing the friction. 

In a few strokes, Richie’s hand tightens on his arm. He squeezes his eyes shut and says Eddie’s name, and then his features go slack, blissed out, as he comes between them. It’s the hottest thing Eddie has ever seen in his life. He moans long and loud through it. Eddie keeps going, even as his cock twitches in his hand. Richie immediately pulls him in for another kiss and Eddie doesn’t even care that there’s come on him still. Richie grabs for an article of clothing to wipe it off of him. 

“Those are gonna be nasty,” Eddie murmurs against him. 

“What?”

“Those shirts. They’re all covered in come. They’re gonna be really nasty if we just pack them again.”

“I’ll wash them in the morning,” Richie says, pulling Eddie down and rolling them over. He kicks the covers down, yanking their pants off the rest of the way. They crawl under the sheets, cool against their hot bare skin. 

“In the sink?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah, sure.” Richie pulls the comforter back up and over them, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s middle, dragging him in close against his chest. 

It’s not unusual that they would cuddle after hooking up. They cuddle plenty _without_ hooking up, so it shouldn’t be different now. Should it? Eddie isn’t sure the rules for these things. He doesn’t really want to talk about it right now though, much preferring the warmth of Richie’s bare body against him to any alternative. 

“I can’t stay here,” Eddie says stupidly. “I’ve gotta brush my teeth and stuff.” 

“I know,” Richie kisses the side of his neck. “But I’m not done with you yet.” 

They cuddle like that for a little while, sleepy and satisfied and quiet. Richie lets his hands roam all over Eddie. He strokes his hips and belly and chest, right back down to run over and dip between his thighs, which is where they spend most of their time. “Always wanna touch you here,” he says. “Well. Everywhere, but here specifically.” His fingers are deliberate, scratching lightly over the sensitive skin, revelling in the way Eddie’s lips part. 

“Always?” he asks. 

Richie hums. He thumbs over his nipples, doing it again when Eddie inhales sharply. “Would you wanna go again?” he asks. 

“Tonight?” Eddie blinks. “Really?” 

“If you want to then yeah, duh,” Richie says, kissing him at the corner of his mouth, pinching his thigh a little. 

Eddie takes a shuddery breath at the feeling. “Of course I want to,” he says. It’s probably been ten minutes and already he can feel the familiar heat in his gut. 

“Okay then, good,” Richie kisses his cheek. He rolls so he’s on top of Eddie, elbows bracketing his head, chests flush. He’s warm and heavy and Eddie absolutely _adores_ it, being pressed into the mattress like this. 

“I like this,” he says without thinking about it. “You on top of me.” 

Richie grins. “I’ll remember that,” he says. He slots their hips together then, both of them already half hard when they line up. 

Eddie gasps faintly. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he says, staring up at him with wide eyes. The feel of their dicks pressed together is overwhelming on another level, warm and soft and absolutely filthy. He wants to spread his legs further but also likes the way Richie’s feel against his, so he stays still, tries to focus on his other senses so it lasts a little longer this time. 

Richie’s face is framed by his curls hanging down, blocking out the light like a curtain. His face is soft but determined as he starts to move. Eddie stares at him, lethargic and hazy with pleasure, Richie covering him like a blanket. Now that he’s not as desperate, he can appreciate every part of it in a new way. The way Richie looks with the light behind him, the way he _smells_ , his body, lanky and firm, moulded against his like they were made to fit together. The way he can feel Richie getting harder against him, and it definitely speeds up the process for him too. Richie moves his hips in slow circles and Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever felt more relaxed, straight through to his bones. He feels like he’s melting right through the bed each time their cocks slide together and he’s sure it shows on his face. 

“You’re so...” Richie whispers, trailing off. His eyes are shining, and if Eddie weren’t already naked underneath him, the expression would make him feel like he was. Richie continues to grind down against him, kissing his face and neck with soft soft lips, and _god_ , Eddie could so get used to this. 

He lets out a soft moan as the heat starts to build. His heels press into Richie’s calves, arms wriggling up from his sides to hold onto his shoulders — it’s grounding, since he’s unable to buck up against him from the way he’s being pushed further into the bed. He likes that part, too. The way Richie is fully in control in this position. “Yeah,” he murmurs. 

“Yeah?” Richie asks, strained. “You feel good like this?”

Eddie can only nod, eyes rolling back when they slide together in just a way, and Richie catches him in another eager kiss. It’s fumbling and honest and _so hot_ Eddie knows he’ll be imagining the feeling every second they’re not kissing from now on. 

When they break apart, Richie takes his hands one at a time and places them above his head on the pillow. He threads their fingers together and picks up a quicker rhythm, rutting up against him, and the slick sounds are echoing up from under the covers now. It makes him shiver. Richie is kissing his jaw and neck and making little sounds against his skin as his movements grow more erratic — as the warm tingly pleasure makes his limbs heavier. Eddie soaks up every feeling fully; from their feet tangled together, to Richie’s hands in his, the weight holding him down. He can feel Richie panting against his shoulder now. 

It takes a little longer this time since neither of them were fully hard to begin, and Eddie doesn’t mind a bit because it feels _so good_ that he wants to keep going forever — but soon they’re coming again, one after the other. Richie is first, with a shudder and groan, and then Eddie. It spreads through him slowly, long and drawn out and numbingly good, like a big stretch that makes Eddie’s back arch and a broken moan escape him. It’s probably the best fucking orgasm he’s ever had. 

Richie collapses on top of him, out of breath, and loops his arms around his back. He holds him close despite the come smeared between them, and it’s a little gross, but probably not as gross as it should be. 

“You’re gonna suffocate me,” Eddie says, even as he hugs him, runs his fingers through his sweaty and tangled hair. 

Richie just hums. “That was so fucking good,” he says. 

And, well — Eddie has to agree. He’s never felt so satisfied in his goddamn life. He’s still in a haze now, despite seeing their clothes strewn about and having Richie _naked on top of him_ , it’s hard to believe it actually happened. “It was,” Eddie says. “Really, really fucking good.”

Richie giggles against him. He almost says something else, Eddie thinks, but must decide better of it. 

“I really do have to clean up though,” Eddie says after a few moments. “As much as I don’t wanna get up.”

Richie sighs, rolling off of him. “Go quick then,” he says. “And toss me some tissue because I’m not getting up.”

Eddie snorts and sits up. His limbs feel like jelly and he already misses desperately the feeling of Richie on top of him. “Gross,” he says. He stands with more difficulty than he expected, meandering over to the bathroom. Richie wolfs whistles and it makes him laugh fainty. “Shut up,” he says. “There’s come in the sheets, isn’t there? Ugh.”

“We can sleep in the other bed, then.” Richie supplies. “I may be able to drag myself over there.”

“If you don’t brush your teeth, I’m not kissing you again.” Eddie says from the bathroom sink. He stares at himself in the mirror, at the little purple bruises on his neck and jaw, and knows it’s a lie. 

Either way, he hears Richie spring out of bed almost instantly and chuckles. 

Afterwards, they settle back down in the opposite bed. Eddie feels bad for the housekeeper who will have to strip and wash their sheets, but there’s nothing they can do about it now. Richie slumps on top of him again, much to Eddie’s delight — they’re both wearing clean underwear now but that’s it. Eddie can still feel his chest and stomach and arms and legs draped over him. Coming twice really takes it out of a person apparently, because it doesn’t take long before he can feel Richie’s heart rate slowing against his, and he knows he’s drifting off too. 

Eddie takes a mental note of all the places they’re touching, disbelief still shrouding his thoughts. Six years he’s been thinking about this. Daydreaming about what Richie would feel like and sound like, and now he _knows_ , and it makes his head spin. From how Richie talked about it, it seems like this could be a regular thing, too. Eddie aches to know what his mouth feels like other places than his neck. His breath catches at the thought, like Richie might hear him. He doesn’t of course. Even if he could read minds, which Eddie is sometimes afraid he can, he’s fast asleep. Probably not overthinking this as much as Eddie is. Fuck buddies — friends with benefits; he knows the terms, remembers hearing the boys talk and tease about it. It’s just casual. It’s just to get off with someone you trust. Richie thinks he’s _hot_ , and that alone is more than he ever expected. He can handle shoving everything else down if it means he keeps getting to watch Richie’s face screw up in pleasure. 

_If he knew how I felt about him, he wouldn’t be doing this_ , Eddie’s brain reminds him. 

Well then. He’ll never find out.


	7. Chapter 7

When Eddie wakes up Richie is no longer on top of him, but instead curled up beside him, drooling onto his pillow. 

_He’s so gross_ , Eddie thinks. _He’s gross and loud and annoying and I love him so much it’s gonna kill me._

He quietly slips out of bed, careful to not wake him. It’s still pretty early — the sun is barely up and it makes the sky a greyish blue outside — but Eddie wants to get a shower in before Richie is up and convinces him to stay in bed with one look. 

It’s chilly with no clothes on. Memories of the night are scattered around the room; dirty clothes on the other bed and their bags still sitting in the entryway, Richie’s glasses on the floor somehow. They must have slid from the bed at some point although Eddie can’t remember exactly when they came off. A small detail amidst the other monumental feeling things that happened. He picks them up and sets them on the bedside table, continuing into the bathroom. 

Eddie looks at himself in the mirror. His hair is ridiculous looking — all stuck up in various positions, and not in the sexy rumpled way Richie always sports in the mornings. He looks tired and small and a little unwell in the harsh lighting. But then he spots the bruises; small and purple, dotted up his shoulders and neck. A reminder that someone — no, not someone, _Richie_ , found him hot enough to leave them there. It sends a little thrill through his body. 

He steps into the shower, turning it up as hot as it will go. It’s soothing as always, but there’s no deep ache this time to relieve, no tension in his shoulders and back. He still feels languid and satiated from coming twice with Richie last night; _twice_. Eddie washes his hair slowly, shuts his eyes and feels the water running down his face. The day after tomorrow they’ll be arriving in California. The day after tomorrow this fragile _thing_ will come to an end — the two of them, alone together, existing between places with no responsibilities. Nothing to worry about other than just _going_. And there’s a part of him that hopes, selfishly, that once they arrive it won’t disappear completely. That maybe this fragile thing can retain some of its shape. He likes being Richie’s main priority and he’s not quite ready to lose him to a new life. 

_But he asked me to come_ , Eddie reminds himself. So maybe there’s hope yet. 

He sighs and runs his fingers back through his hair. Somehow the shower is making him feel sleepier instead of more awake, lulling him into relaxation, which isn’t entirely unappreciated. A cup of coffee after will do the trick. Eddie lets his brain filter through other, less emotionally charged thoughts; like what he wants for breakfast, what he’s going to put on today, everything he needs to pack. It doesn’t stress him out to plan like it does Richie — in fact, quit the opposite. 

As if on cue, the peace and quiet is broken by a sudden knock. It makes Eddie jump a little. 

“Eds?” Richie asks, voice sleepy sounding even through the door. “Can I come in?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Eddie says. He wonders if he locked it or not, but it must not be a problem because Richie opens it a second later, cold air rushing into the steamy room. 

Richie yawns. “I just really have to piss,” he says. 

“No problem,” Eddie tries to focus on something else, tips his head back in the water, lets his mind drift, until he hears the toilet flush. He expects Richie to leave after, but it’s quiet for a moment. 

“Hey,” Richie says. “Can I join you?”

Eddie almost slips from the way he jolts out of his daydreams. “W-While I’m showering?” he asks, which is a stupid question, but he doesn’t know what to say. Is that normal? Is that what fuck buddies do?

Richie chuckles a little. “Well, yeah, that’s the idea.” he says. 

“Wouldn’t you rather wait until I’m done so you have more room to like, y’know, _shower_?”

“Um, no,” Richie replies. “Because then you wouldn’t be there anymore. What, are you shy suddenly? Because I have seen your dick, you know. Touched it too.”

He’s right, of course, and Eddie suddenly feels crazy for even hesitating at the opportunity to have Richie naked and wet in front of him. “Okay,” he says. 

“Yeah?” Richie confirms, sounding hopeful. 

“Yeah, come on. But close the door again it’s getting cold in here.” 

Richie quickly pulls the door shut and then he’s undressing — Eddie can hear his clothes drop to the floor and waits with jittery anticipation, until finally he’s peeking through the curtain, climbing into the tub carefully. 

“Don’t slip,” Eddie says. 

Richie snorts, but he’s grinning. “Thanks, babe.” he says. 

He crowds up into his space to get some water, and Eddie steps back out of it a little to allow him more room. 

“No, no,” Richie closes his eyes and grabs onto his arms to keep him from moving further away. “It’s good, we can share.”

So Eddie stays where he is, feels the water running over his back and between their chests. The room is filling with steam again and making everything foggy. Richie’s hands are warm and steady against him. It feels almost dreamlike, standing here in the warm haze of everything. Eddie leans his forehead against his chest, and Richie’s arms wrap around his back, hands sliding down to hold onto his ass. 

Eddie makes a little surprised sound. “Well, aren’t you handsy in the morning,” he says, trying to hide how immediately excited he gets. 

Richie hums and rests his chin in Eddie’s wet hair. “I can’t see anything, I have to feel around to know where I am,” he says. 

Eddie grins. “Oh huh, so you have to grab my ass to know you’re in the shower?”

“Yeah,” Richie squeezes a little. “I’ll get lost if I don’t.” 

Eddie giggles against him, resting his hands against Richie’s chest. “Okay,” he says. “Well, we wouldn’t want that. Feel free to keep your hands where they are then.” He tries to sound sarcastic and keep the bit going, but it’s hard with the way Richie is touching him, massaging his fingers in. It feels fucking _good_. Eddie is starting to think that anything Richie could ever do would feel good. And it’s interesting, how Eddie _knows_ that Richie’s hands are big but every time they find a new part of his body to hold, they feel bigger. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Eddie’s voice sounds small in his own ears. “Really okay.”

Richie continues to hold him like that, humming something Eddie can’t place, and it mixes with the white noise of the water so pleasantly. Eddie briefly allows himself to imagine what it would be like if he could start every morning like this. Relaxed, satisfied, waking up slow with Richie. _With Richie_. It’s how he wants to spend every moment of every day, and especially now that he knows what it could be like beyond what they’ve always had. 

But one day, Richie is going to get a boyfriend, right? And then what? What will Eddie do when he has to watch Richie hold someone else?

The thought isn’t something Eddie has the energy to deal with right now — or possibly ever. He slumps forward into Richie and closes his eyes. 

“Want me to jerk you off?” 

Eddie almost laughs from the bluntness in his voice. “You realise we basically _just_ got off _twice_ before falling asleep?” he asks, and at the reminder he feels his stomach twist. 

“Oh yeah,” Richie says. “I’m not forgetting that anytime soon. I mean, we don’t have to —“

“No, wait,” Eddie tilts his head back to look up at him. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”

Richie grins. He ducks down to kiss Eddie’s neck and slides one hand down between them. 

This time he moves his hand slow and deliberate. It’s easy in the water, already wet and warm. The feeling builds gradually this time, creeping up on him, and when he finally comes it’s with a long sigh, his fingers gripping Richie’s biceps. He returns the favour happily — watches the way Richie braces himself against the wall, studies the trail of water from the tips of his hair when he hangs his head forward. He catches Richie in a quick kiss as he finishes, and can feel the other boy smile against it. 

“I like how easy the cleanup is in here,” Eddie remarks afterwards, which he realises maybe kills the mood, but he can’t help it. 

Richie laughs and the sound echoes through the bathroom. “We should do this more often then,” he says. 

Eddie just nods. They definitely should. 

“You should let me wash your hair,” he says. “You’ve probably got shit from the river in there still.”

Richie looks down at him with a look too soft for any other time of day. “You’re probably right.” he says. 

Eddie nods. “Okay, um — sit down then. You’re too tall.”

Richie smirks as he sinks to the tub. “Or you’re too short,” he says, falling right back into their usual dynamic. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and squeezes a generous amount of shampoo into his hands. “No, you’re too tall.” he says. He starts to scrub it into Richie’s hair, untangling his mess of curls, watching it lather between his fingers. He scratches lightly at his scalp and watches as Richie’s head tilts into the touch. “Stay still,” he says, smiling to himself. 

“Right,” Richie straightens up again. He’s not done though, because now every time Eddie drags his fingers he moans, louder than he did when they were actually having sex. 

Eddie smacks the top of his head. “You’re so annoying,” he says, still massaging the shampoo in. 

Richie just laughs. 

  
  


They finish the shower with only a couple of minor slips and just one shampoo-in-the-eye incident (although Eddie isn’t entirely sure Richie wasn’t faking it). Once they’re out and dried, Eddie sets to work on packing, while Richie keeps his promise and washes their shirts in the sink. It feels terribly domestic and Eddie finds himself daydreaming again about the shared apartment, shared _home_ they’re heading towards — laundry, dishes, arguing over where to set the thermostat. Will they eat dinner on the couch in the evenings or at a table? Whose job will it be to bring in the mail? 

Will Richie be bringing home dates once he has his pick of a town much more interesting than Derry, full of much more interesting people than Eddie? 

He stops thinking and finishes packing. 

First stop is breakfast. They head into a little bakery that advertises breakfast sandwiches on the window, and as soon as they step inside the smell of coffee and fresh baked bread makes Eddie close his eyes and inhale deeply. 

“Hey, what can I get you guys today?” The girl behind the counter asks. She has short blonde hair that’s spiked up and heavy black liner around her eyes, and she’s smiling cheerfully. 

“Two breakfast sandwiches, one with the egg scrambled instead of fried, and — Eds, do you want coffee or that strawberry smoothie you’re eyeing right now?”

Eddie blinks and looks away from the menu. “I — I dunno. I should probably just stick with the coffee, right? It’s what I get every morning we stop somewhere.”

“You’re right,” Richie says thoughtfully. “Smoothie it is then. Extra whip.”

“I don’t need extra whip, Rich,” 

“Oh I know, I’m gonna eat it off the top.” Richie gives him a self satisfied grin as he pulls the cash out of his wallet. 

Eddie splutters a little instead of coming up with a better response, and the girl behind the counter laughs softly at them. 

“Hey,” Richie nods towards the door suddenly. “Go grab that table by the window for us while I pay, before someone else takes it.”

Eddie shakes his head faintly, a little gesture of _you exhaust me_ that’s undermined by the smile he can’t hold back. Richie just winks at him as he heads off to save their spot. 

From the table, he watches Richie finish the order, no doubt taking his time deciding what kind of juice he wants or if he needs a muffin too. He does need a muffin, apparently — the spiky haired girl puts a chocolate one in a paper bag. Eddie is already planning on telling him off for the choice when he comes over, remind him that chocolate is not a breakfast item, to which he’ll grin and argue back and offer Eddie a bite. And Eddie will take it like he always does. 

Richie says something then that makes her laugh and it gives Eddie a much less pleasant feeling. It’s hard to tell sometimes when Richie is just being his usual funny friendly self and when he’s flirting — even if that flirting means nothing. This girl doesn’t even seem interested in him like the girl at the gas station; she responds to his conversation with a similar expression that Bev might make while she rings him up, but still, something about it makes Eddie feel antsy and annoyed. 

He knows Richie isn’t his. But it’s a constant pain to remind himself when he’s always been Richie’s. 

A moment later Richie joins him, setting a large strawberry smoothie on the table with a ridiculous amount of whipped cream on top. He takes the lid off, already preparing to lick it off, and Eddie slaps his wrist. 

“Hey! Don’t stick your tongue in my smoothie.” 

Richie grins devilishly. “I can stick my tongue in your mouth but not your smoothie?” He asks, and it’s hushed, no one heard them, but Eddie still kicks him under the table out of shock. He knows his cheeks are red by the way Richie laughs. 

“What am I gonna do with you?” Eddie sighs, watching as Richie licks up the whipped cream anyway. He doesn’t really mind that much. 

“I can think of a few things,” Richie responds. 

Eddie just rolls his eyes and ignores the heat in his chest when Richie grins and slides the smoothie over to him. Horny he can handle. Horny is easily taken care of. _This_ , though... this soft ache that spreads through him whenever Richie looks at him like he’s the only person in the room. He has no control over it. He doesn’t even know where to start 

After a few minutes of stupid playful flirting ( _it means nothing_ , Eddie reminds himself over and over), the spiky haired girl calls out the number on their receipt, and Eddie gets up to retrieve their food. 

“Here you go,” she says. “Hope you enjoy!” 

“Thank you,” 

“Oh, and your boyfriend asked for sourdough, but we were out, so I just gave him the regular wheat.” she adds. “Hope that’s alright.” 

Eddie blinks. _Boyfriend?_ Is that how other people see them? His heart races at the idea, and he turns to see Richie sitting at the table across the room, already watching him. His cheeks burn. 

“Um — no that’s, that’s fine. Thanks.”

“Great!” she grins. “Have a great day, both of you.” 

Eddie nods and takes their plates. As soon as he steps away from the counter his stomach twists, icy regret rushing through him. He should’ve denied it. Why didn’t he deny it? What if Richie _heard_ him not deny it? He’ll have to pretend he didn’t hear her. Yeah. Play Dumb. Won’t be too hard. 

“Um, here,” Eddie says, taking his seat slowly. “They were out of sourdough.” 

Richie just shrugs. “Oh well,” he says. He picks the tomatoes off his sandwich, dropping them on Eddie’s plate before he digs in. 

Eddie waits for Richie to say anything else about it, picking at his own food; he never does. 

“So,” Richie says eventually, far enough from the incident that Eddie know it’s probably something else, but he still feels a spike in his nerves. 

“So...” 

“We _could_ be there tomorrow night,” Richie says. 

“But?”

“But instead we’re taking a little detour...”

The grin on his face lets Eddie know that whatever the idea is, no matter how stupid it may be, he’s going to give in. He always does. Still, he huffs a sigh when he asks, “What kind of a detour, Rich?”

Richie takes a sip of Eddie’s smoothie. “Las Vegas, of course!”

Eddie snatches it back. “Vegas?” he asks, sitting back in his seat. He doesn’t know much about Vegas, not really, but what he does know doesn’t exactly paint it as his ideal vacation spot. He’s already on this trip though, doing something so spectacularly amazing and scary with the one person that could ever make him do it, what’s one more adventure in the middle of it? “Alright,” he says. “Could be fun.”

Richie beams at him. “ _Will_ be fun,” he says. “You can _bet_ on that.”

“Was that a gambling pun?” Eddie asks. 

“Maybe.”

“It was bad.”

“It was great, be quiet and drink your smoothie.”

Eddie laughs and does exactly that — for a minute or so, and then they fall back into easy conversation. 

Later once they’re finished and leaving, the girl behind the counter gives them a little wave and smile. Eddie smiles back.

  
  


In all fairness, given the circumstances of being trapped in a car for hours with the person you’ve been pining over for years and having recently found out that he is willing to have sex with you, Eddie shows incredible restraint thank you very much. 

It’s only by mid-afternoon that he feels the restlessness taking over again, and quite honestly he could blame part of that on today’s mixtape. Almost every song that’s played has been about sex, either graphically or disguised in not-so-creative metaphors. Eddie is already weak enough. And now — _now_ , Richie is singing along, voice low and fingers drumming against the steering wheel, and it’s driving him crazy. 

“ _Come on, come on, come on, come on now touch me babe, can’t you see that I am not afraid...”_

Eddie just stares at him. He watches his hands, long ass fingers tapping along with the drums; the way the light from his window peeks through his curls; the slope of his nose and cut of his jaw; his _mouth_. That stupid mouth that’s always saying things to fluster him, to annoy him, calling him petnames. That mouth that he’s felt on his neck. 

“Fuck,” Eddie mumbles. 

“Hm?” Richie glances over, all smirk and innocent eyes. He knows damn well what he’s doing. 

“Nothing,” Eddie says. “This music is just making me grumpy.”

Richie laughs. “Thinkin’ about Jim Morrison?” he asks. 

Eddie rolls his eyes, because that’s definitely _not_ who he’s thinking about, but he says, “Getting closer.” 

“ _I’m gonna loooove you, ‘til the stars fall from the sky, oh you and I_ ,” Richie sings, trying purposely this time to sound sexy, and it’s obnoxious and loud but still accomplishes exactly what he intended. 

When he starts up the chorus again, singing the words _touch me_ with special flair, Eddie gets a surge of bravery. “Is that a request?” he asks. 

Richie grins at him as he finishes the line, and then says, “It’s always a request, sweetheart.”

There’s a challenging tone to his voice, the kind that would usually fluster Eddie and earn Richie a shove or a middle finger, but this time it just makes Eddie want to push back. He reaches over and sets his hand on Richie’s thigh. His singing falters for a second at the touch, but then he carries on, smirking, and that’s just not _enough_. Eddie slides his hand further over to cup him over his pants. Richie swerves a little this time, and Eddie snatches his hand back. “Watch the fucking road!” he says. 

“That was totally your fault,” Richie laughs, but he sounds a little strained. “I’m... I’m gonna pull over?”

“You better fucking pull over.”

It takes a minute to find a decent shoulder in the road, but as soon as they’re parked by the bushes Eddie is unbuckling. It’s broad fucking daylight and anyone could pull over behind them to see if something is wrong, but Eddie doesn’t even care, he climbs into Richie’s lap without a second thought. It’s a little cramped and awkward, Eddie’s knees bent up on either side of Richie’s hips, back against the steering wheel, but then Richie is _kissing_ him and nothing else matters. The Doors are still playing in the background and Richie is sliding his hands under Eddie’s shirt, chuckling against his mouth. 

“What’s so funny?” Eddie asks, tilting his head as Richie nips at his jaw. 

“You. Getting so worked up from a song that you start feelin’ me up on the freeway. I haven’t seen you this desperate since... well, last night I guess.”

Eddie snorts and yanks on a strand of his hair. “Shut the fuck up,” he says. 

“Are you always this horny?” Richie asks. “Or is it just since we’ve been on this trip?”

Eddie gets him to stop talking by rocking his hips forward. He loves the way Richie sighs against his neck, so he does it again, with more purpose this time. Richie slides his hands down to grip his ass and then they’re working together, Eddie grinding forward, Richie meeting his movements and pulling him closer each time he does. It’s a little frantic and uncoordinated but it works, and it works _well_ — the fabric is rubbing against him in all the best ways, and Richie’s fingers slipping into the back of his shorts sends a jolt through him that makes him moan. 

“Come on,” Richie says, hushed. “Keep going.”

And that — that’s new. They didn’t talk a lot last time, both too eager to slow down, too overwhelmed by the intensity. They talked in _between_ , sure, but during is very different, and it’s definitely doing it for Eddie. 

“That’s it, Eds,” he continues, sinking down in his seat a little and spreading his legs further. They’re too long and one ends up cramped against the door. “Gotta go a little faster if you’re gonna get off before someone catches us.” 

Eddie tucks his face into Richie’s neck, whimpering a little. He feels silly, the way he’s rutting helplessly like Richie is just a pillow on his bed, the fact that anyone could look through their windshield as they drove past and see what’s happening. But Richie kisses his shoulder and Eddie finds he doesn’t really care about any of that. He does consider reaching his hand between them and making this a little easier, removing the constraints between them with a zipper or drawstring, but he sort of likes that it’s more difficult this way. He likes the tightness of Richie’s jeans, the way Richie encourages him. So he keeps his hips moving. 

“There you go,” Richie says. “Just like that — god, you’re so desperate already. I should play music like this more often.”

Eddie groans. “It’s not the music, asshole, it’s _you_ ,” he says. He doesn’t know why it still feels so exposing to admit he finds Richie hot. It’s obvious now, probably always was, but it still embarrasses him to say, like anything he says will expose him for everything he’s thinking. 

Richie tries to chuckle but it sounds a bit choked. “O-Okay,” he says. “Just — keep going like that.”

Eddie feels Richie bucking up and holds tight to his shoulders, grinding down to meet him. “Is you telling me what to do for my benefit or yours?” he asks curiously, panting. 

“Are you into it?”

“Definitely into it.”

“Then yours, of course,” Richie says, smiling against his neck. “Just like that babe, you’re doing so good.”

Eddie groans and speeds up. It’s just grinding, he definitely doesn’t need instructions to know how to do it, but hearing what Richie wants is so _hot_ he can hardly stand it. They don’t even have their clothes off. He’s gonna die. 

Richie mouths up to his ear and Eddie lets out a ridiculous embarrassing sound. He tries to move faster, harder, closer, and it’s just barely on this side of enough. Which somehow makes it all the more overwhelming. He can feel it creeping up on him, curling his toes, it’ll only take a little more to send him over the edge. 

Richie must feel him tensing up — feel the way his thighs are shaking with the effort. “There you go,” he whispers. “You’re almost there. Come for me, Eddie.”

So Eddie does. Right in his pants, moaning softly and arching back, Richie’s lips attached to his neck — and accidentally presses against the horn. 

“Fuck!” Eddie flinches forward again into Richie’s chest, both of them giggling and panting. “Whoops.”

Richie grips his hips, still moving underneath him. “That was so, so fucking hot, Eds.” he says, sounding almost disbelieving. “Can I see?”

Eddie nods, still a bit shaky as he comes down from it and from the horn scaring the crap out of him. He leans back a little, careful not to do it again. Richie pushes his shorts down, just enough to see his dick, red and twitching with sensitivity as the fabric rubs against it, his stomach and the bottom of his shirt wet. 

“Oh _god_ ,” Richie groans. He tips his head back against the headrest and comes, lifting up from the seat and pushing into Eddie. 

Eddie watches his throat bob, his chest heave with each breath. He’ll never get tired of it. 

When Richie has calmed down a little, he pulls Eddie close, hugging him and nuzzling into his hair. “You’re fucking amazing,” he says. 

Eddie laughs against his chest. “You’re in a post-orgasm high,” he says. “I just came in my pants after, like, five minutes.”

He sits up a little to look Richie in the face, both of them shiny and happy and flushed. 

“Yeah, and it was so hot I came immediately after just looking at you,” Richie says. He doesn’t sound embarrassed, but he looks it a little, biting back a smile and shaking his head. 

Eddie kisses him. 

“Okay, this is gross, we need to change.” 

Richie snorts and pulls Eddie’s shorts back up, opening his door. 

They open the trunk and pull something clean from the tops of their suitcases, changing quickly on the side of the car not facing the freeway. There’s not many people out right now anyway, and with the side door open they’re shielded enough. 

Eddie is heading around to the passenger side when he notices movement in the grass. He steps back, afraid it’ll be a snake or something, but then out emerges a small lump of brown. 

“Oh my god,” Eddie bends down to get a closer look. “Richie!”

“What is it?” Richie is out of the car again immediately, looking concerned. 

Eddie looks up at him, bottom lip in a pout, eyes wide. “It’s a _puppy_ ,” he says. “And it’s pretty healthy looking, but it doesn’t have a collar or anything. Some asshole must’ve dumped it out here!”

Richie joins him and they both marvel at, sure enough, a small beagle puppy crouched and dirty, unsure of what to make of them. It barks softly, barely more than a squeak, and Eddie actually clutches at his chest. 

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he says. “It’s all alone, Rich! We can’t leave it out here, it’ll get hit by a car!”

Richie reaches out carefully, and the puppy scrambles back in fear. “Hey, hey there,” he says, voice so soft it catches Eddie off guard. “I won’t hurt you, c’mere.” He lets it sniff his hand, and then when it seems trusting enough to stay still, he strokes a finger across its back. 

The puppy curls into the touch, arches its neck to try and gnaw playfully at him, and in one swift movement Richie scoops it up. It’s definitely bigger than a newborn but still small enough so his one big hand fits all the way around its middle, tiny legs kicking midair and droopy ears swinging. It could have fleas for all they know, but Eddie can’t even consider leaving it out here. He knows Richie feels the same way. 

“Eddie, babe, get me one of my t-shirt’s would you?” Richie asks. He’s bouncing the dog like a baby and Eddie notices, grinning to himself as he nods and heads back to the car. 

When he returns they wrap it loosely around her — it’s a her, they found out — and then Richie hands her to Eddie. 

“You hold her while I drive,” he says. “Do we have anything she can eat?”

“Uh, mini cereal boxes?” Eddie shrugs, holding her close to his chest. “Can dogs eat cereal?” 

“I think so? My cousin’s dog ate all sorts of shit and he was always fine. Until he ate from the paper shredder bin, of course. Then he threw up.”

“Okay, well we won’t feed her fucking paper then,” Eddie says. 

In the car, Eddie pours little bits of Rice Krispies into his lap, keeping one hand on the puppy’s back while she noses through them, then licks them up. 

“And to think,” Richie says, glancing over at them while he drives. “This little one might never have been found if you didn’t get so ragingly horny I needed to pull over immediately.”

Eddie snorts. “Oh shut up,” he says, smiling down at her. “What are we gonna do with her? I mean... can we keep her? Would your aunt be fine with that?” 

“Sure,” Richie says. “She’s cool. She’ll be cool with it.”

Eddie scratches lightly behind her ears. “I mean, do you — do you want a dog? We’d have to like, buy her food and take her to the vet and stuff. It’s kind of a big decision to make on a whim.” 

Richie grins. “Kinda like running away to California with your best friend?”

Eddie blushes faintly, but he nods. “Kinda,” 

“I do want a dog,” Richie says. “ _This_ dog in particular. Look, she likes the music. See? She has good taste.”

Sure enough, the puppy is standing up, wagging her tail so it smacks Eddie in the chest and snuffling around the speakers.

“Yeah,” Eddie laughs. “I guess she likes The Cranberries.”

“Who doesn’t? Hey, you know, she needs a name if she’s gonna join the family,” Richie points out, and Eddie is so distracted by the implication of them being a _family_ that he almost forgets to answer. 

“Uh, yeah?” 

“How about Dolores O’Riordan?”

Eddie makes a face. “I cannot call a dog Dolores, Richie, she sounds like a grandma.”

Richie laughs. “We could call her Dot or something,” he says. “I think it’s cute.”

Eddie looks down at the dog, paws too big for her body leaving dirt on his legs, licking happily at the edge of his shirt. “I like Dot,” he says. 

Richie reaches over to pet her in Eddie’s lap, their arms brushing, and he grins when she starts to lick him instead. “Hey Dotty,” he says in a sweet little voice Eddie has never heard. “You like that name?” 

“I thought it was Dot,” Eddie says. 

“Everyone needs a nickname, Spaghetti.” Richie pulls back, but not before ruffling his hair. 

Eddie rolls his eyes to hide a fond smile and doesn’t bother fixing it. 

“ _And now I tell you openly, you have my heart so don’t hurt me, you’re what I couldn’t find_.”

  
  


“Whaddya’ think she’d prefer,” Richie asks, holding out two bags. “Beef jerky or pork? Or should we be getting like... canned tuna or something?” 

Eddie is holding Dot wrapped in the shirt still, scratching between her ears to keep her quiet in the store. “She’s not a cat,” he says. 

“Dogs don’t eat fish?” 

“I dunno... why don’t we just get some regular dog food?” 

“We will,” Richie drops the beef one into the cart. “But she deserves a treat too.”

“Yeah, pretty sure they sell dog treats too,” Eddie says, following him down the aisle. 

Richie waves a hand dismissively. “Jerky tastes better,”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Don’t wanna know how you know that,” he says. 

Grocery stores always feel weird in the evening, Eddie thinks. The cold wide aisles, the fluorescent lighting, the outdated music playing quietly in the background. There’s only a few other people shopping too, which only adds to the feeling that they’re in a different dimension. Maybe it has something to do with being in the car for days straight. 

They pick up a few things they need, like snacks for the car, and frozen dinners to put in the microwave. Eddie loves the slow domesticity of it. 

“Do you want apple or cranberry?” Richie asks. “Are you in a sweet mood or a tart mood?” 

“Why do I feel like that question has layers to it? I’ll have cranberry.”

“Ooh, tart it is.” Richie sets it in the cart along with his own. 

Eddie laughs. “Idiot,” he mumbles, and his chest warms when he sees Richie smile in response. 

He’d be happy to do this forever. He knows it’s silly, and probably selfish, but the idea of arriving in California the day after tomorrow scares him. It’s easy to fall into this little routine when it’s just them two — three now — and he’s not prepared for what will happen when their life returns to normal. He doesn’t want anything to change. It’s all he can think about. 

Dot, much more sick of grocery shopping and ready for something new, starts to wriggle around in his arms. She grumbles in frustration when Eddie won’t let her jump down, barking sharply. 

“No, no, shh, you’re fine,” Eddie tells her. “Fuck, okay — here,” he sets her down in the back of the cart. 

It’s fine at first; she paces back and forth, pawing at the side, but it’s too high for her to jump out. When Richie starts to push though, she gets agitated. She barks, sounding more afraid than upset, and he immediately stops again. 

“Oh she hates that,” he says. 

“What do I do then??” Eddie asks. “She doesn’t wanna be held, and we don’t have a leash yet!”

“Hmm, yeah, should probably get one of those.” Richie scratches his jaw thoughtfully. “You should get in with her.”

“Are you serious?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah! Why not? I used to push you around all the time when we were kids, until Mrs. Contreras told us off for it. Then I did it even faster, down the cereal aisle. You crashed into a granola bar display one time, remember that?”

Eddie stares at him, half amused and half disbelieving. “Yes, I remember. I got a bruise on my forehead from hitting it.”

“And I kissed it better,” Richie grins. 

Eddie feels himself blush a little. He does remember that. He remembers the quick press of his lips and Richie’s hands on his cheeks, he remembers Stan rolling his eyes behind them, and Mrs. Contreras yelling at them to buy something or get out. 

“That was when we were _kids_ , Richie,” he says. 

“You’ll fit, you’re the same size.”

Eddie snorts and flips him off. He’s already climbing in though, Dot jumping around his legs as he settles in around the food, and, sure enough — he fits just fine. 

“Oh shut up,” Eddie says. “You fuckin’ beanstalk.” 

Richie laughs. “Look at you two,” he coos. “So cute.” 

He pushes them through the rest of the store, grabbing napkins and plastic forks from the deli, as well as dog food and a leash and collar. Dot seems much calmer where she can stand with Eddie still petting her, talking to her as they go, and every once in a while he glances up to see Richie grinning at them in a way that makes him feel almost shy. 

He pushes them right into the checkout. Eddie hands him things to put on the conveyor belt, too comfortable now to climb out. 

“No dogs allowed in the store,” The checker tells them in monotone. 

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re leaving then, isn’t it?” Richie says with a smile that Eddie knows is sarcastic as hell, and it makes him laugh, which he covers up with a cough. 

“Right, okay,” Eddie says when they’re back at the hotel. They decided to just sneak the dog in instead of asking if pets were allowed. They'll be out before anyone notices, anyway. Now they’re sitting on the bed, shoes kicked off, and Eddie is peering into the shopping bag to make sure they got everything they needed. “We have dinner, for us and Dot... snacks, drinks, forks... chocolate? I didn’t see that on the belt.”

“It wasn’t,” Richie says. He’s flipping through channels while Dot runs back and forth across the room, revelling in her newfound freedom. 

Eddie gives him a look. “Rich, for the last time, you don’t need to steal something whenever a cashier annoys you.”

“Yes I do,” Richie says. “It relaxes me. And tell me, _really_ , who is this hurting? I got you the caramel one you like.”

Eddie sighs and faces forward again. “King size?” 

“Of course,” Richie says, smirking. 

“Fine. You’re off the hook.”

Richie hums. “I knew size mattered.”

“Shut up,” Eddie shoves his shoulder. “Okay, bath time.”

Richie sets the remote down. “Didn’t we just take a shower this morning?”

“Not _us_ , the _dog_. She’s filthy and I’m not letting her up on the bed until she’s clean.”

He stands up from the bed, heading into the bathroom and turning on the faucet, getting it to the perfect temperature before plugging the tub. Next he lays out a towel to kneel on, and prepares another to wrap her up in when they’re done. 

Richie carries her in a moment later. He’s wearing his grey sweatpants again with an AC/DC shirt, hair all fluffy, and he’s singing something by The Cranberries under his breath, bouncing Dot so it’s like she’s dancing. 

“What?” he asks upon noticing Eddie staring. “She likes it. It is her band, after all.”

Eddie shakes his head fondly. “Alright,” he says. “It’s nice and warm, you can put her in.”

Richie crouches down beside him, shoulders pressed together, and sets her down slowly in the half-filled tub. Immediately Dot starts splashing around, stomping her paws and flinging water onto the bathroom floor. She barks happily, tail wagging. 

“She likes baths, then.” Richie laughs. “Good to know.” 

Eddie squeezes some shampoo into his hands, trying to rub it into her fur, but she’s _slippery_ and won’t stop moving, he can’t get a grip. 

“Ah!” He yelps when her tail whips water into his face. “Richie, help!”

Richie grabs her around the middle, holding her still to the best of his ability while Eddie washes. He massages the soap around, behind her ears, under her belly. There’s water everywhere by the time just the top half of her body has been scrubbed. Richie picks up her paws and dances her around, still singing while Eddie washes her legs and tail. 

“Oh god, gross. Look at this!” he says. He stares down at the murky colour the water’s become. 

“We’ll have to start calling her Dirty Dotty,” Richie muses.

“I’m absolutely not calling her that.”

“She’s a filthy baby. A disgusting little creature.”

“No!” Eddie insists. “She’s innocent, she was left on the road! Be nice.”

Richie grins. “Dolores the nasty girl.”

“That is awful, Richie.” 

“Smelly O’Riordan.”

“Richie, for fucks sake.” Eddie says. “Ignore him, Dot, you’re an angel and you’ll be nice and clean soon.”

Richie just laughs. 

Luckily there’s not very much water in the tub and it’s easy to drain and replace with fresh, warmer water. 

The trouble comes after they rinse her. Eddie is leaning in, turning off the faucet, when Dot decides to dry herself off by shaking wildly. Water flies everywhere, sloshing out of the tub onto the already soaked floor and all over their clothes. 

Actually, that’s not when the trouble comes. The trouble comes after Eddie complains about being all wet, and Richie thinks, _oh, you know what will be hilarious? Pushing Eddie into the tub with the dog_. So he does. 

Eddie yelps as he falls face first into the water, turning so his legs are sticking out. He coughs and pushes the sopping hair out of his face. “ _Richie_!” He yells. 

Richie is doubling over with laughter. Dot is jumping around and barking from all the excitement. Eddie splashes him — the floor is already a swimming pool by now, it doesn’t make a difference. 

Eddie could be annoyed. The bathroom is a mess, his pajamas are soaked, there’s something literally stepping on his chest to lick his face. Everything is chaotic and loud and at any minute someone could knock on their door and say they heard barking, and dogs aren’t allowed, and they need to leave. But as Dot bites at his hair Eddie looks up at Richie, sees his bright and happy face and his messy hair and wet t-shirt bathed in unflattering white bathroom light. 

He realises two things. 

One; they do not have enough towels for the mess, and he’ll have to call housekeeping for more if either of them plan on showering before they check out. 

And two; he wants to see Richie laugh like this every day for the rest of his life. 

Which, of course, leads him to another realisation. 

He should probably tell Richie he’s in love with him. 

Fuck. 

He’s shaken out of his thoughts, heart racing, by Dot licking his ear. 

“Oh, god, fuck,” Eddie squirms away, laughing despite the nervous energy suddenly rushing through him. 

Richie holds out his hand and Eddie takes it, lets himself be pulled out of the tub and into a soft warm towel. Richie holds the edges of the towel tightly. He kisses Eddie’s forehead, which is as close to an apology as he’s gonna get, and Eddie takes it. He’ll take everything Richie is willing to give him. 

But he’ll have to find out what that is another day, because right now he’s not brave enough. Right now he just wants to change and get in bed and eat chocolate that Richie stole for him, and pretend everything will stay like this forever, when in reality he knows that telling Richie could change everything. It could change _everything_. Eddie isn’t ready for that. But how long can he go on, pretending that this is casual? Pretending that he doesn’t feel like throwing up whenever he thinks about Richie moving on to someone else?

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Richie asks when they’re curled up in bed. He’s carding his fingers through Eddie’s damp hair, Dot fluffy and clean and snoring beside them. 

“I’m trying not to,” Eddie says truthfully. 

Richie hums. The TV has been off for a while, they’ve eaten and brushed their teeth, and the last few minutes has been spent in silence, just like this. Richie on his back with one hand tucked behind his head and the other in Eddie’s hair, Eddie pressed up beside him. They stare up at the ceiling, the only sounds being Dot and the click of the AC and Eddie’s racing heart. Every drag of Richie’s fingers through his hair slows it down. 

“Want me to turn out the light?”

“Yes please,” Eddie says. 

Richie stretches his arm out to the side, turning off the lamp. He pulls the comforter up a little further, tucking it around Eddie, pulling him in closer. Eddie rests his head against Richie’s chest and listens to his heartbeat instead, tries to time his the same. 

“Eddie...” Richie says after a minute. 

“Yeah?” 

A few seconds of silence pass, and Eddie can feel himself relaxing further, feel his eyelids growing heavier, so he closes them. 

“Goodnight.” Richie says quietly. 

“Night, Rich.”


	8. Chapter 8

The drive to Vegas is a boring one. Eddie thought he was sick of seeing pine trees and rocks, but it turns out miles and miles of empty yellow sand is much duller. 

Luckily he has a best friend hellbent on entertaining him. Richie has spent the last twenty minutes doing impressions of various people for Eddie to guess, and every single one has made him laugh. Even the really stupid ones. 

“ _Ah Doc I just, I dunno what to do. She’s my mom but she was so hot when she was young! What’s a guy to do?_ ”

Eddie snorts. “Marty McFly,” he says. “And gross.” 

“ _Richie_ ,” Richie says sternly, starting a new one. “ _You are the bane of my existence, do you know that? Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to sit and watch a pigeon try to digest a popcorn kernel.”_

“Stan,” Eddie laughs. Then, hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia, he adds, “I miss him. All of them.”

Richie smiles a little sadly. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too. But they’ll come visit, I’m sure of it. No one can stand being so far away from me.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he’s sure Richie is right. He knows he couldn’t.

“Hey,” Richie is looking at him, face soft. “Thanks for coming with me. Dunno if I ever said that.”

 _You don’t have to thank me_ , Eddie thinks. _I’d follow you anywhere._

What he says is, “Of course. I know you’d be lost without me.” He’s trying for the easy confidence that Richie always exudes, but it feels unnatural, which makes him a bit embarrassed. 

Richie just grins and looks back at the road. “Damn right,” he says. 

He turns the music up when that Guns N’ Roses song from the diner starts playing. He sings along, dramatic as ever, and Dot barks from the back seat like she’s singing too. 

Eddie lays back in his seat and closes his eyes. 

“ _He’s got a smile that it seems to me, reminds me of childhood memories, where everything was as fresh as a bright blue sky_.”

The next time he opens his eyes it’s because Richie is shaking his shoulder gently. 

“Eds, look!” 

Eddie sits up, looking to where Richie is pointing. In the distance he can see the Las Vegas strip, glowing bright against the dark blue of evening, like a strange oasis. 

His energy picks up a little. He’s _excited_ , even if Vegas isn’t his ideal vacation spot — it feels like they’re finally _somewhere_. And California is just a few hours away now. Tomorrow they’ll see the ocean. Tomorrow they’ll be home. 

It feels weird to even think; home is back in Maine, isn’t it?

Richie rolls down the windows, sticking his arm into the wind as it whips through his hair, and he lets out a holler. He’s grinning ear to ear when he looks over at Eddie, wanting to share the moment with him instead of only looking out. 

No. Home is sitting right beside him. 

The desert around them is suddenly replaced with city; hotels and casinos, each one more unique and extravagant looking than the last, with elaborate statues and fountains surrounded by colourful lights. The traffic is slow now, people milling about and crossing in front of cars. No one seems to be dressed for the same place. Loud music fills the car from one casino, ancient Egypt themed, complete with pyramids out front. There’s a person dressed as Spider-Man handing out flyers and what looks to be a few paparazzi following a woman inside, her fur jacket looking bizarre in the summer heat. 

It’s completely remarkable, Eddie thinks. Chaotic, sure, but not boring. Absolutely nothing like Derry. The air smells good but he can’t place what it is. He assumes they do that on purpose, pump it out of the hotels, so you’ll wanna come inside and spend money. 

They turn suddenly into the parking garage of a massive building, glowing purple and looking about a million feet tall. The sign out front reads _Stardust_ in zig zaggy font. 

Eddie lets out an incredulous laugh. “This is where we’re staying?” 

Richie grins and takes a parking ticket. 

They lug their suitcases out of the trunk, dragging them through the parking lot, looking around in amazement because there’s just _so much_ to look at. Even from here. Inside feels larger than the outside, somehow, with high ceilings and neon lights, and a slot machine right in the lobby. 

“How the fuck can we afford this?” Eddie whispers as they wait in line. 

“My aunt gave me a good chunk of travel money,” Richie says. “And like half of it is being used right now.”

Eddie gives him a _look_ , but it’s more excited than scolding. He’s never been anywhere this fancy. And besides, they only have one day left. So, they’re a little broke when they get to Santa Cruz. They’ll figure it out. 

Once again, they don’t bother asking if dogs are allowed. After they’ve checked in, they bring Dot in through the side entrance and up to their room, figuring that with all the partying that goes on in a Vegas hotel no one will notice the yaps of a puppy. Richie says that if anyone asks, he’ll just tell them that Eddie is noisy in bed. Eddie shoves his shoulder with a flush. 

Inside their room feels just as grand, even with its ugly carpet and tacky paintings on the wall. The beds are huge, as is the tub, and they even have a fully stocked mini bar. 

“You know those are, like, really expensive,” Eddie comments as he watches Richie investigate from where he’s flopped on one of the beds. 

Richie turns to smirk, eyebrows raised. “Not if you fill them back up with water,” he says. 

Eddie thinks that plan could probably backfire, but he’s not thinking hard enough to figure out how, so he just shrugs. Dot runs back and forth across the room, thrilled to be out of the car.

"Okay," Richie says. "Let's go."

Eddie blinks. "Where are we going?"

Richie gives him a look, like, _hello_? "We're in Vegas," he says. "Are you really telling me you planned on staying in the room all night?”

Honestly, Eddie wasn’t sure. He just assumed they’d get here late, enjoy the view of the city from the car or the hotel window or whatever, and then go to bed. Maybe fool around a bit first since it may be their last night of whatever this thing is. But the sun has only just set — they have the whole night to do whatever they want. Problem is, Eddie definitely isn’t the going out type. Just the thought of Vegas at night scares him a little bit, but Richie’s expectant smile makes it hard to say out loud. 

“Well...” he says slowly. “I’m sure it’s pretty crowded, and it’s not like we have any money to gamble.”

“I have twenty dollars set aside specifically for this, we can just do a few slots or something.”

Eddie shifts, and he knows the nerves are apparent on his face, because Richie’s own face falls a little. “Eds,” he says. “Come on, I can’t just _not_ go out. We’re in _Vegas_. Who knows when we’ll be back!” 

“You should go then,” Eddie says. He sits up, glancing towards the window. “Maybe just, um, tell me where you’re gonna be. And don’t get super drunk because it’s not safe when you’re in a city you’ve never been surrounded by people you don’t know, and don’t take any drugs from anyone even if it’s just weed because you have no idea what —“ 

“Eddie,” Richie cuts in, eyes soft, lips quirked up. “I don’t wanna go by myself. I wanna go with you.”

Eddie was afraid he’d say that, but it’s still nice to hear. “I’m not really... Vegas material.” he says. 

Richie rolls his eyes. He steps closer, grabbing Eddie’s hands, pulling him off the bed. “Yes you are,” he says. “You’re the most fun person I know, besides maybe Bev, you gotta stop acting like you’re a stick in the mud.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Eddie tries to pull away a little, but just a little. “I’m just — you know, uncomfortable, anxious. With plenty of reason to be, I might add! This has gotta be one of the most dangerous cities to be in with the shit people get up to and the fact that everyone’s drunk. And we’re not used to it, we’re not city people, Rich, Derry is _tiny_.”

Richie laughs faintly, but it doesn’t make Eddie upset. In fact it comforts him a little. Richie pulls him in and says, “Don’t worry Spaghetti, I’ll protect you from scary city people.”

Eddie grumbles but allows himself to be wrapped up. “You’re not good at fighting,” he says, squished against him. 

“I would be defending you,” Richie says. “Besides, with you there we won’t get into any sketchy situations. We’ll just have a few drinks and play a few games and have fun! Come ooooon, come with me, you’ll have a good time!”

Well, Richie is right about one thing. They’re less likely to get into trouble if Eddie is there to stop him from making stupid decisions. He sighs, and feels Richie squeeze him because he already knows he’s won. “I don’t have anything cool to wear,” he says. 

Richie holds him out at arms length and looks him up and down. Red shorts and a white NASA t-shirt. He grins. “You look great,” he says. 

“I don’t look _cool_ ,” Eddie complains. “You have to look cool in Vegas.”

Richie looks amused. “Well, look at me!” he says. “I still have fuckin’ bedhead, I’ve worn this band shirt twice already without washing it.”

“Yeah, and you look fucking cool!” Eddie scoffs. It’s absolutely ridiculous to compare their outfits.

Richie beams at him, like Eddie thinking that he looks cool is the proudest moment of his life. “Well I think you look good,” he says. “But if you wanna, you can wear something of mine. Here,” he pulls away, rummaging through his bag for something, and when he finds it he holds it up triumphantly. 

It’s a Rolling Stones shirt, same white and red colour scheme as Eddie’s current outfit, but with slightly more of an edge factor in its worn appearance. 

Eddie takes it eagerly, pulling his own shirt over his head and rumpling his hair in the process. 

“I’d offer you some ripped jeans,” Richie says. “But you get too hot wearing pants in summer, and you definitely wouldn’t fit in them.”

The shirt doesn’t fit him either. It hangs past his hips a little, the frame of it loose on his shoulders and exposing the tops of his collarbones. 

“How do I look?” Eddie asks, glancing unsurely down at himself. 

Richie nods as he takes it in, eyes wide. They flick over Eddie almost hungrily. “Good.” he says, and clears his throat. “You look good.”

They venture down to the casino that’s in their own hotel first, the room bigger and wider than the average house, stretching back so it’s one big open space full of machines and card tables and multiple bars. The walls are dark and the only real lights are coloured red and blue and purple, but it’s easy to see with how many there are. 

Eddie spots a sign on the wall next to the bar that says _No Drinking Or Gambling Under 21_. 

“Uh, Richie,”

“Relax,” Richie says. “Easily avoidable. We’ll just do slots, no one to ID us if they think we look young.” 

The thought of being thrown into a Vegas jail with no one to bail them out briefly crosses Eddie’s mind, but then Richie is pulling him towards a big flashy machine — it’s space themed too, with giant planets painted on the side. Richie slides in a dollar and pulls the lever. 

_3... 3... 5_

“Damn,” he says. “Okay, whatever, one dollar lost. You pick one.” 

They roam around the casino for a while, Eddie sticking close to Richie’s side and thinking, _hey, this isn’t so bad_. They lose every machine they play, but each one is only a dollar or two so it’s alright. It’s fun to get excited and watch the numbers spin. Eventually, Richie decides they need a drink. 

“Just watch,” he says. “He’ll give it to us anyway. They wanna make money.”

“I’m not so sure,” Eddie replies. “This isn’t the bar back in Derry where all we had to do was take Bev with us and they’d let us order.”

Richie sits down at the bar anyway, Eddie standing right behind him. 

“Two beers,” Richie says. “Whatever is light on tap.”

The bartender, a burly looking guy with a beard, steps closer to look them over. “Got ID?” he asks. 

Richie makes a show of checking his pockets casually, his face falling as he pats his hips. “Oh shit,” he says. “Fuck — I must’ve left my wallet in the room. Second time today, I swear!”

“No ID, no alcohol.” The guy says. 

Richie frowns. “Aw come on, man,” he pauses, then grins, turning on the charm. “I’ll come back down with it later, swear. We just need two beers for now. Can you help me out?”

The guy gives him an unamused look. “Get outta here, kid, or I’ll call security.”

Richie scoffs, mumbling something about terrible service. “Come on, Eddie,” he hops down, the bartender not giving two shits as they take their business elsewhere. 

“Who’s he callin’ _kid_?” Richie asks when they’re wandering through tables again. “I’m not _that_ far off from 21. Sorry, I thought that would work.”

“And I knew it wouldn’t,” Eddie rolls his eyes, then smiles. “Let’s do another machine.” 

The next one they pick has Elvis Presley all over it, with a metal guitar on top and music playing from the speakers. There’s buttons instead of a lever this time. They take turns, both of them doing the honours, and then suddenly a fake audience is cheering on the screen and lights are blinking on top. Three red guitars in a row. 

“Eddie!” Richie grips his shoulders, shaking him a little. “We won fifty fuckin’ bucks!”

Eddie laughs gleefully. “Holy shit! We did!” 

A little ticket slides out and Richie snatches it up. Luckily the woman cashing is caught up in conversation with a coworker and doesn’t bother looking up at them as she gives them their winnings, much less ask them for ID. 

Obviously, their first order of business is to head to the gift shop. 

Everything in there is tacky and says either the word _Vegas_ or _Stardust_ on it. Racks of keychains and mugs line the walls. Richie already has a shot glass, a dish towel, and a t-shirt in his arms when Eddie rounds the corner. 

“Since we just won,” he says, holding up the shirt. It’s black and says _I got lucky in Vegas!_ above a big pair of dice. 

Eddie stares at it. “That’s hideous,” he says. “We should definitely own it.” 

He realises a second too late that he said _we_. As in, a piece of clothing they both share. 

Richie just grins. “That’s what I was thinking,” he says. 

As it turns out, hotel gift shop souvenirs aren’t cheap and they don’t wanna blow all their winnings in one place — well, Eddie doesn’t, anyway — so they finish looking and head up to the register. Before they get there, they’re stopped one last time by a rack of postcards. 

“These are all so cool,” Eddie says, thumbing through them. He pulls out one that’s dark blue, with a picture of the hotel on the front — but back in the sixties, before the remodel. There’s old cars in the parking lot and the sign is flashier. _Greetings from Stardust, Las Vegas_ , it says.

Richie stares at him for a minute. Then he takes the postcard, setting it on the counter with their other things. He pays and then asks the cashier for a pen. 

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks. 

“Sending a postcard,” Richie says plainly. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Okay, to who?” 

Richie hums. “Someone,” 

Eddie snorts, but grabs their bag nonetheless, getting out of the way of the other people in line. Richie is standing with his back to him, postcard pressed against the counter while he writes. Eddie moves to his side and doesn’t miss the way Richie shifts away from him again. _Who_ is he writing to and why is it a secret?

Richie’s foot bounces while he thinks, eyes scanning what he’s already written. He’s clearly concentrating. His cheeks have a warm flush to them, bottom lip between his teeth, and he’s shielding the card with his other hand. 

Eddie’s curiosity gets the better of him. He tries to lean over his shoulder, but Richie sees it coming — he’s too tall anyway, all he has to do is shift up and Eddie’s view is blocked. Eddie pouts a little. “Oh come on,” he says. “Who are you writing to?” 

“Someone,” Richie repeats. “You’ll find out, promise — just need to focus.”

Eddie huffs, but steps back and stays quiet for a moment. He lets Richie write, studying the side of his face, the softness of his eyes and the way he smiles faintly with his bottom lip still caught. Eddie isn’t jealous of the postcard but he may be a little jealous of whoever Richie is writing to. Just a little. 

It takes a good few minutes, a _long_ few minutes, and Eddie is getting extremely impatient. He taps Richie’s shoulder and is ignored. He tugs on his hair and is ignored. “Richiiiiie,” he whines. “Come on, can’t you finish it in the hotel room? Why are you even writing this here?” 

“Because,” Richie says. “Sometimes the words just come to you.” 

Eddie sighs, long and loud and no doubt annoying. He’s sort of trying to be annoying in the hopes it will speed things along. But Richie doesn’t look annoyed. He just grins as he finishes writing, eyes sparkling, and hands the pen back. 

“Can I see it now?” Eddie asks. 

“Nope.”

“Well can you at least tell me who it’s for?” 

Richie puts an arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go find another bar that will sell us alcohol,” he says. 

Eddie knows he isn’t gonna find out tonight, so he lets Richie lead him out of the gift shop. _Another time_ , he thinks. 

The Vegas Strip is much prettier when it’s fully dark. Dazzlingly bright lights shine up into the inky sky, some blinking, some like spotlights. There’s music from every direction and things to look at everywhere they turn, things they’ve never seen before. Street performers by huge fountains do magic or dance. People in costumes hand out flyers. Richie drops his postcard into a postal box as they walk past. 

They head into the first casino that doesn’t have a bachelorette party blocking the doorway. This one seems to be Greek and Roman themed — marble columns stand in every corner, blue and green tiles spiralling around the lobby. Men dressed as gladiators are waiting to take people’s bags. This place is much fancier than their hotel. A woman in what looks to be a nightgown and leather jacket talks shortly to an employee while an entourage of bored looking people crowd around her. Some guests point and take pictures of her as they walk past, so Eddie assumes she must be famous in some way, but he doesn’t recognise her. 

Once they enter the casino part, it’s clear they’re underdressed. All the men are dressed in blazers and button downs, all the women in shiny outfits and heels. He knows for sure they won’t be served alcohol at a place like this. They look more like teenage punks here than they ever have anywhere. Except, somehow, Richie still looks like he belongs. He saunters past poker tables looking far more confident than Eddie feels shuffling alongside him. 

“How do you do that?” Eddie whispers. 

“Do what?”

“You know,” he sidesteps a waiter carrying a tray of appetisers. “Act so confident in a place where we could get in trouble for even being here.”

Richie chuckles. “The trick is not caring if you get into trouble, Eds.” he says. 

Well. Fair enough 

They play a few more machines, losing on all but one, where they win five dollars. Eddie is ignoring how crowded it’s gotten because if he thinks about it he’ll start to panic probably. Luckily this place has a machine to cash out prizes, so they don’t have to deal with any employees — but Richie has always loved testing his luck. 

“I’m gonna try for drinks here,” he says. 

“What??” Eddie says in his _that’s a stupid idea_ voice he’s sure Richie is familiar with by now. “This place is even fancier than the first!”

“Yes, but there’s more going on, so they might not even look at me very closely,” Richie counters. 

“They’ll still ask you for ID,” Eddie says. 

“Look, I’ll just try. If it doesn’t work I won’t push it. But you _do_ look younger than me... maybe you should wait here.”

Eddie frowns, his stomach immediately filling with anxiety. “Wait here? But —“ 

“Just for a minute!” Richie says. “Just stand by this machine and I’ll be right back, hopefully with a drink so you can relax and start enjoying yourself.”

Eddie doesn’t like the idea of it, but he nods. “Fine, whatever.” he says. Richie is right about him looking younger, after all, and it _would_ be nice to have a drink. 

“Okay, I’ll be right back then.” Richie grins and gives his shoulder a squeeze. 

Eddie watches him disappear into a sea of people. 

God, there are so many people. 

The longer Eddie stands, holding their hotel gift shop bag in Richie’s too-big-shirt, the more awkward and out of place he feels. Someone is gonna notice him and ask for his ID, and Richie won’t be here to smooth talk them out of it. He tries to distract himself by looking around, but all he sees are _people_. Lots of drunk, loud, swaying people, laughing and pushing past him. He can feel his hands shaking a little. _Hurry up, Richie_. Someone goes to use the machine he’s standing by and Eddie steps out of the way, pushed further into the stream of traffic. 

The next time someone knocks heavily into him, a tall, loud guy with a goatee, some of his beer spills onto Eddie, and that’s _it_. He shrivels away, disgusted and more than a little panicked. He feels suffocated. The lights are too bright and everything is too loud, he’d give anything to be back in their quiet hotel room with Dot and Richie. _Where the fuck is Richie_?

Eddie is sliding down the back of a machine when the boy in question returns, hands alcohol free. When he sees Eddie crouched down in an obvious state of distress he hurries over and squats next to him. 

“Hey,” he says. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

Eddie manages to shake his head, eyes stinging, which makes him feel stupid. Sure he’s overwhelmed, but he doesn’t need to cry about it. 

“Did something happen?” Richie asks. His voice is gentle and concerned. 

Eddie says, “I — I was — someone got beer on me and I —“ he tries to slow his breathing. _Fuck_ , he doesn’t even have his inhaler. 

Richie sets a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, okay,” he says. Somehow his hushed tone is heard clearly over a thousand other voices yelling and laughing. “You’re alright. Let’s go outside, okay? Come on.” 

He holds out his hand and Eddie takes it, standing up shakily. Richie takes the bag and doesn’t let go of him as he weaves them between groups of people, past the main bar, past poker and blackjack tables, past a white statue of Zeus. Eddie stares at the back of Richie’s head and follows him until they’re out the door. 

The air outside is warmer, but a bit less stifling. There’s still lots of people but more spread out, not crowded around him, knocking into his shoulders. 

“You wanna go get some water?” Richie asks. 

Eddie shakes his head again. He doesn’t want to go back inside _anywhere_. 

Richie rubs the back of his hand with his thumb. “Wanna go back to the hotel?” 

Eddie nods. “I’m sorry,” he blurts. 

“What? Why?” 

“Because, I — you wanted to have a fun night in Vegas and I ruined it because — because I can’t handle so many people and —“ 

“Hey, Eddie,” Richie squeezes his hand a little. “You didn’t ruin anything. I had fun. And I’m tired anyway, I’m totally okay with going back to the room now.”

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, relief flooding through him just a little stronger than the guilt. 

“ _Yes_ , positive. Let’s go and pray that Dotty didn’t destroy our pillows or anything.”

Eddie chuckles. He isn’t certain he believes that Richie is ready to go back, but he goes when Richie tugs him along, grateful. 

The pillows are still in tact when they arrive — Dot is asleep in the armchair, only stirring a little when they come in. The air conditioning clicks on as they do, providing a refreshing breeze and white noise much more soothing than Vegas nightlife. 

Richie groans and kicks off his shoes. “Fuck, that was a lot of walking,” he says. 

Eddie sits down on the end of the bed, letting out a breath. 

“You need a drink,” Richie says, and heads to the minibar. He pours something into a glass (Eddie doesn’t even know what) and hands it over. 

It smells like cleaner but he downs it in a gulp, immediately hacking and spitting. “This is awful,” he says. “Oh my god, Rich.”

Richie wrinkles his nose. “Yup,” he says, lowering the bottle. “But it’ll get ya drunk!” 

Eddie takes another glass. 

One hour and four glasses later, Eddie is laying back on the bed while Richie tries to do handstands against the wall, to prove he still can. He keeps kicking the wall and falling back down, and Eddie is laughing his ass off. They both are, which only makes each handstand harder than the last, and Richie’s pinched voice when he tries to talk upside down has Eddie _wheezing_. 

“Richie,” Eddie says between giggles. “You — you’re gonna hurt yourself!” 

“I already did,” Richie groans through his laughter, climbing up onto the bed to join him. He lands heavily on top of Eddie, face flat against his chest, hands by his sides. 

Eddie lets out a strangled sound. “You’re crushing me!” 

Richie hums against him. “You likeit when m’on top ofyou,” he says, muffled. 

Eddie can’t exactly argue with him there. 

He closes his eyes, head and feet aching, stomach turning. God, he’s really gonna be hungover tomorrow. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Richie asks, head turned now. 

“How terrible I feel,” Eddie says. “Just, all over.”

“Aww,” Richie says. He kisses Eddie’s chest through his shirt without even moving his head. 

“Now I feel a little bit better,” Eddie says, and it’s sort of a joke, but also not really. 

In response, Richie moves one hand to push his shirt up. He kisses his bare ribs, soft but deliberate, like he’s trying to push some sort of comfort into him. When Eddie responds positively, Richie continues. He raises himself up a little and slides his hands up Eddie’s sides, The Rolling Stones logo folding up and disappearing. He drops gentle kisses across his chest, the touch feathery light. He moves down over Eddie’s belly and around his hips. 

The press of his lips is so soft Eddie can’t help but whimper. He feels even more exposed this way, somehow, with Richie fully dressed and only using his mouth. He’s not trying to get him hard — he’s not grinding on him or palming him or anything like that. He’s just kissing him. All over. Down his thighs, right back up to his stomach and his collarbones, his dark hair tickling Eddie’s neck. He’s not even leaving marks — it’s far too soft for that. It makes Eddie shiver a little. 

Richie pushes the shirt up over his head, ducking back down to kiss his shoulders, peppering them down his arms, to the crook of his elbow. He kisses Eddie’s palm and Eddie feels fire running through him — not the fierce kind of heat that leads to sex, but a slow, kindling warmth that he could sink into forever. 

Eddie cups his palm against Richie’s cheek, caught up in it all. He watches Richie smile, and they lock eyes, something so fragile hanging in the air between them. He wants to say something. He should say something. But he’s so afraid of breaking it. 

Richie leans in again to kiss his neck, a soft and lingering touch. He breathes in deeply. His hands curve under Eddie’s shoulders, not holding him down this time, but holding him close. He kisses Eddie’s jaw, his cheeks, and finally, _finally_ , his mouth. 

It feels different than any other time they’ve kissed before. There’s no desperation, no post-sex haze — just comfort. And for all the places Eddie has gone and felt out of place, with Richie’s arms around him, he feels right where he belongs. It’s an incredibly cheesy thing to think, but there’s no point in denying it to himself now. He kisses back, slipping one leg between Richie’s jean clad ones. Richie is moving so slow, so careful, hands touching Eddie’s face almost delicately. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever been handled with such care and it makes his head spin with questions. Like, has Richie always been this careful when drunk? And why is he holding him, kissing him so sweetly, if the outcome isn’t sex? 

Richie rolls over so he’s half on top of Eddie and half beside him. He presses his nose against Eddie’s shoulder. “Wanna tell you something,” he mumbles. 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. The other boy is lethargic, and he can feel the sudden sleepiness creeping through him as well. He can’t tell if they’ve been on the bed for five minutes or fourty five minutes. He has no idea what time it is now. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Richie says. “I do.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Tell me,” Eddie says, eyes closed. 

He waits for a response. A minute passes, maybe, but he hears nothing. He considers opening an eye to check if Richie is awake, maybe shake his shoulder, but before he can, he falls asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing Eddie feels in the morning is a splitting headache. The next thing he feels is Richie slumped over him, still in his jeans and shirt. He opens his eyes, hand moving up to shield them from the blinding sun coming through the curtains, and groans. 

“I know,” Richie says, sounding far away. “I did the same thing.”

“Fuck, what time is it?” Eddie blinks, trying to focus in on the clock on the bedside table, but turning his neck hurts so he gives up. 

Richie grumbles. “All I know is that the sun has been up for a long time,” he says. “And it won’t go away no matter how much I plead.”

Eddie massages his temple. “Did we even eat dinner last night? I don’t think we did.”

“Nope,” Richie rolls over to stretch. “We did not.”

Eddie is going to say something else about how stupid that was and how they didn’t even brush their teeth or pull back the covers, but a sudden lurching in his stomach has him jumping out of bed abruptly and running to the bathroom. 

He hears Richie say from the bed, “Yup, did that too.”

They lay in bed for a little while longer, but soon the gnawing of hunger is too much to bear. They both take quick showers — too awful feeling to take one together — and pack their things. Richie fills the empty bottles with tap water while Eddie gives Dot some attention, scratching her belly and behind her ears, promising to get her some food too and apologising over her missed dinner. 

After checking out, they head across the street to McDonalds. Nothing like a greasy burger at 11am when you’re hungover — besides, it’s probably all they can afford now. They get two for Dot as well, splitting a fry and tossing a few to her under the outside table they’re sat at. 

They’re quiet as they eat. It could be blamed on the headaches and exhaustion, but Eddie knows it’s more than that. Today is the last day. The last day of this little bubble, the road trip life they got comfortable with, and tomorrow will start their new lives. It was fun to daydream and talk about before, but now with it so close... 

Eddie watches Richie toss down another fry. Is he nervous too? Not just about school, and a new town, but about what it will mean for them? Or is that the last thing on his mind, not even something to worry about? Maybe he knew all along that it was temporary. Eddie knew too — at least, he thought he did. Now, the idea that last night may have been their last night of sleeping tangled up together; it makes him want to throw up again. 

“Hey,” Eddie says, remembering something. “Um, last night... Well, you said you wanted to tell me something. But you fell asleep.”

Richie looks up, expression unreadable. He’s quiet a minute, Eddie assumes he’ll say it now, whatever it was. But instead he just says, “I don’t remember. Probably that I was tired, or something. I dunno.” 

“Oh,” Eddie nods. He tries not to feel disappointed. 

“So,” Richie says, clearing his throat. “Eight hours left. Are you ready to be a California dude?” He uses a ridiculous accent that Eddie is sure no one in California actually has. 

Eddie laughs. “I am excited to see the ocean,” he says. “There’s a lot more waves on the Pacific side, we might see some surfers.”

Richie grins. “Yeah, bet you wanna see some surfers, in their tight wetsuits.” he says. 

It’s not... _not_ true. But Eddie rolls his eyes anyway. “You’re so obnoxious,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Richie starts to clean up their trash. “I am. I’m excited to get there though, and to see Aunt Bea.”

Eddie nods. So, maybe he’s the only one feeling anxious after all. “That’ll be cool,” he says. 

Once they’re in the car, the tension eases a little. They listen to music and Dot yaps in the backseat, things settling back into the way they’ve been for the past week. Slowly but surely, the desert fades into rocks, trees popping up alongside the road. 

_Everything will be fine_ , Eddie tells himself. _You’ve been in love with him for years without him knowing, you can do it for years more if you have to._

He knows it’s not true. 

Five hours later, a sign saying _Welcome to California!_ sends them into a state of giddiness. They roll down the windows and cheer, Dot howling along with them, and Richie turns up David Bowie loud enough for passing cars to hear. 

“We fucking made it!!” He yells. “We actually made it, can you fucking believe it Eds?!” He reaches over and ruffles his hair. 

The excitement is back. Eddie feels filled up with emotion, relief and anticipation and everything else all at once. They really drove _three thousand miles_ to start a new life together, in one way or another. Eddie can push everything else aside momentarily to celebrate that. 

Santa Cruz is still a couple of hours away. Neither of them mind, though — the drive is much more fun being so close. Trees and shopping centres line the freeway, there’s about a million cars on the road, but around seven lanes so the traffic isn’t even slow. It’s funny seeing all the license plates. Most of them say _California_ , obviously, but there’s people from all over the world here. 

And then they see it. Peeking over a hill and growing as they near closer, the Pacific Ocean, deep sparkling blue. 

Eddie’s breath catches a little. He’s seen the ocean before, obviously — but something about it is making him emotional now. It looks so much bigger than when they’d drive to the beach in Maine. The sky is clearer, puffy white clouds sailing over the top of it. Eddie almost can’t believe that they’ll be able to see it whenever they want now, because this is where they _live_. 

Richie grins over at him. “Pretty amazing,” he says. 

Eddie just nods. 

A few minutes later Richie says, “We’re here.”

“We’re — what? Really?” Eddie looks out the window as they pull off the highway.

There’s trees everywhere, not just palm trees but leafy oaks, lining the streets in front of storefronts and restaurants. A guy in board shorts skates past with his dog running alongside him, others biking or sitting at outdoor cafes. The sides of buildings are painted with bold colourful flowers. 

Richie keeps driving through town until they can see the ocean again. People carry surfboards down sandy paths, hair all blonde and wavy. The buildings are a little more run down over here, blue and green paint peeling, signs a bit older, but Eddie still finds it all nice to look at. 

“I dunno about you,” Richie says. “But I really need some ice cream.”

Eddie agrees, so they park and put Dot on her leash, heading over to a walkup stand to order — vanilla for him, pistachio for Richie. They sit on a bench just like they did earlier this summer, eating their ice cream in comfortable silence. Eddie looks down at the sand around his sneakers and thinks about everything that’s happened since then. 

“Hey,” Richie says as he finishes his cone. “I know I’ve said it already, but I’m really glad you’re here.”

Eddie looks up at him. “Oh,” he says. “Me too.”

“But, really,” Richie looks at him a little more seriously, like he needs him to really _get_ it. “I wouldn’t... I wouldn’t be enjoying it right now if you weren’t here. In fact I... I might not even have come.”

Eddie almost drops his ice cream. “ _What?_ Richie, come on, you can’t be —“ 

“I am,” Richie cuts in. “I am serious, Eddie.”

Eddie feels a lump growing in his throat and he tries to swallow it down. He wants to tell him that there wasn’t a chance he’d say no, that he’d follow Richie anywhere in the world and not mean a single of his complaints, but the words are stuck. 

Dot tugs on her leash, bored. 

“Let’s go down there,” Richie says, nodding towards the ocean. “I wanna put my feet in.”

They walk down the same path that the surfers took, pavement giving way completely to sand, prompting them to take off and carry their shoes and socks. It feels amazing under Eddie’s feet. Not cold and gravelly like in Maine, but warm and soft — as long as he avoids the rocks that stick up everywhere. 

They drop their shoes a little ways back and continue on to the water. The air is hot and windy, smelling like salt and the restaurants that stretch along the beach. Eddie squeaks a little when he steps in — it’s not as cold as Maine or Colorado, but it’s still colder than he anticipated. 

Richie laughs, kicking water at him so it splashes up onto his legs. 

“Hey!” Eddie yelps, kicking it back, which only makes him retaliate. 

Dot jumps through the foamy surf like it’s the best day of her life. Eddie holds onto the leash tightly. He gazes out at the line of the horizon, soaking it all in, when he feels another giant splash behind him. He whirls around. 

Richie is laughing again, hands cupped in the water, ready for another strike. His hair is messy and flopping around in the wind, jeans rolled up but still wet at the bottom. The glow of the sun that’s slowly descending makes him look warmer than he ever has. His smile helps with that, though. 

The idea of someone else getting to make him smile like that is suddenly enough to make Eddie panic. 

“Richie,” he says, urgency in his tone. 

Richie just quirks an eyebrow, expecting a water fight probably. “What?”

“I have to tell you something.” Eddie hears Richie from last night echo in his mind. Frankly, he’s not as nervous right now as he thought he would be. The idea of telling him how he feels is far less scary than any alternative, and it took him this long to realise it. 

Richie looks a little confused now. “Okay,” he says. 

Eddie splashes through the water towards him. He stops in front of Richie, looking straight at him, and takes a breath. 

Here goes nothing. 

“I don’t wanna stop,” he says. “Whatever it is we’re doing, or were doing — kissing, fucking, falling asleep together.”

Richie blinks. “Oh,” 

Eddie hurries on before he loses momentum. “And I — I don’t ever wanna do any of it with anyone else. I don’t want _you_ to do it with anyone but me. I think it might actually kill me if I ever saw you kissing someone else, just _thinking_ about it makes me a little sick actually, but that’s not the point — the point is that I... I wanna be with you. I’ve always wanted to be with you, Rich.” 

Richie is staring at him, eyes wide and glossy, lips parted. Eddie wants to kiss him _right now_ but he’s not finished. 

“I know you probably meant for this to be a casual thing, but the truth is that it never could’ve been casual for me. I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted but I had to tell you —“

Richie practically pounces on him, crushing their mouths together. 

Eddie stumbles, almost dropping the leash, but he kisses back as best he can. 

“Not what I wanted?” Richie asks when they part again, his voice cracking. “Eds, I’m so fucking in love with you it’s ridiculous. It was never casual for me either.”

Eddie takes a second to process this, head spinning, face misty with ocean air. “You — you are?”

Richie nods. He’s grinning at him so wide, the sunset reflecting in his eyes. “I even carved our initials on the bridge.”

“You _what_? When?” Eddie must look comically shocked, because Richie laughs. 

“When we were like thirteen,” he says. “I told Stan about it after, and he said I should tell you, but I... well, I never did, did I?” 

“You most certainly did _not_ ,” Eddie says, scoffing. He lets his free hand wrap around Richie’s neck, the other one still holding onto Dot’s leash as she snoops around their feet. He kind of feels like crying a little bit, but he doesn’t, because that would mean having to wipe his eyes and he doesn’t wanna look away. 

“You okay?” Richie asks, grinning. It must show on his face. 

Eddie nods. “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been in my life,” he says. 

Richie’s browns turn up. “Oh my _god_ ,” he says. “You’re so fucking cute, what the fuck?” 

They stand there for a moment, giggling at the whole situation, when Eddie remembers something. 

“Wait, I forgot to tell you I love you too!” 

Richie gives him an incredulous look. “That was kind of implied when you said you didn’t wanna be with anyone else, Eds.”

“It can’t just be _implied_ ,” Eddie says. “If I’m gonna be cheesy and tell you how I feel on the beach at sunset, I have to actually say the words.”

Richie chuckles. “Okay, go ahead.”

“I love you,” Eddie tells him. “And, for the record, I would’ve followed you anywhere, you know. So you didn’t need to worry so much and then in turn make _me_ worry ‘cause I thought you were gonna leave me behind.”

Now Richie looks like he might cry. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. 

Eddie nods. “Okay,” he says. “Good.”

Richie kisses him, arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him in close. Eddie is still holding onto his neck. 

Dot, in a sudden burst of excitement, barks and runs between their legs towards the beach. The leash is wrapped around Eddie’s ankle and when she reaches the end of it he loses his footing, stumbling backwards with Richie until he falls, back smacking against the wet sand. A fresh wave rolls in, soaking him from underneath. Richie narrowly caught himself, so luckily Eddie isn’t being crushed by the weight of him on top of it. 

“Fuck,” he says anyway, laughing through a groan. “Ah it’s _freezing_ ,” 

“Shit — are you okay, baby?” Richie asks, helping him up. 

Eddie looks up at him. “You’ve never called me that before,” he says, taking his hand. 

“Wha — yes I have,” Richie frowns, confused. 

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, ignoring the wet sand that’s falling down the back of his shirt and sticking in his hair. “You call me babe. This is the first time you’ve said _baby_.”

“Oh,” Richie says. “Is that okay?”

“Richie, are you kidding me? I’ve had literal wet dreams about you calling me that.”

Richie tosses his head back and laughs, and it’s the most beautiful thing Eddie has ever seen. 

“God, you’re my fucking soulmate.” he says. “Sorry, is it too soon for that?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, grinning. “How many more years do you wanna make me wait?” he asks. 

Richie laughs again. He shakes his head, untangling Eddie’s legs from the leash. “Not a second longer,” he says. 

The wind is getting chilly, especially to Eddie who’s still soaking wet, so they decide to head back to the car — much to Dot’s dismay. 

“God, look at me,” Eddie says when he sees his reflection in the car window. 

“I do,” Richie says. “Often.”

Eddie quirks an eyebrow. “I can’t wear this,” he says. 

“Luckily, I have just the thing accessible, my dear. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” 

Fifteen minutes later they pull up in front of a square, white, two story house. Tall yellow grass frames the outside, with a dirty path on the side that, if you followed it for about ten minutes, would take you right back to the beach. 

A familiar looking woman hurries out to greet them in slippers and a colourful cardigan. She’s somewhere in her fifties, greyish streaks in her own dark curls, which are now stuck up messily with a giant claw clip. 

“Richie, honey!” She opens her arms wide, pulling her nephew into a big hug. “You’re finally here!”

“I know!” Richie hugs her back. “It’s great to see you, Aunt Beatrice.” 

“Well,” she says, hands on her hips now and a grin on her face. “What do we have here?” 

Eddie, hair still wet but now dressed in an _I got lucky in Vegas!_ shirt steps forward, holding Dot and she wags her tail happily. “Hi,” he says. 

“Aunt Bea,” Richie says. “I brought my boyfriend Eddie and our dog. I hope that’s okay with you.”

Eddie’s eyes shoot over to him, face flushed. Richie is smiling but not looking back. 

“Of course it’s okay!” Beatrice cries, pulling Eddie into a side hug so she doesn’t crush Dot. “So lovely to have you, darling, long time no see. And who’s _this_ little thing?” She pets the dog’s head, not even minding when her hand is licked all over. 

“This is Dolores O’Riordan,” Eddie says. 

“Oh,” Beatrice nods, giving them a thumbs up. “Excellent name choice, that woman is an icon. Well, I hope you boys are hungry, because I made way too much chili for one person.” 

“We’re always hungry,” Richie says, and she laughs, taking the dog so they can get their bags. 

When they’re shoulder to shoulder again at the trunk of the car, Eddie smiles at him. “I didn’t expect you to call me your boyfriend in front of your aunt,” he says. 

“Oh,” Richie looks at him, concerned. “Yeah. You alright with that? I knew she’d be chill, so I didn’t even think about it.”

Eddie nods. “Yeah, no yeah it’s, it’s fine. I just. It caught me off guard. But I liked it.”

“Yeah?” Richie grins. 

“Yeah. Uh, back at that coffee shop before Vegas… the girl who worked there. She called you my boyfriend and I didn’t even correct her.” Eddie admits, a little sheepish. 

Richie laughs. The sound is soft and clear in the quiet of the driveway. “That’s because I told her I was,” he says. 

“What? You did?” 

“I did,” Richie grins. “Was just fun to pretend, I guess. I didn’t think she’d say it to you.”

Eddie watches him open the trunk, the sunset sky behind him fading into something milky, stars just barely visible through the light pollution. “You don’t have to pretend anymore,” he says. 

“No,” Richie lugs two bags out of the car, eyes soft when he turns back. “I don’t. Let’s go see our new house, boyfriend.”

Beatrice’s level of the house is extremely cozy. Warm colours, art all over the walls, enough couch cushions for three living rooms. They’ll try the outside stairs tomorrow, but for now they head up to the second level from the main stairs inside, unlocking the door to their apartment. 

It’s big and open, though not quite a studio because the bedroom is still separated. It’s decorated more simply than downstairs, but still with lots of colours — a brown couch with red and orange embroidered pillows, a tapestry hanging above the TV. They can change out the decorations however they want, of course, but Eddie kind of likes how it is already. He can’t wait to see their things piled all around — well, Richie’s things. Eddie’s things will be properly put away and organised. But their shared things will be displayed on the coffee table and on kitchen counters. 

“Welcome home,” Richie says, and Eddie turns around to see him grinning, setting the keys on the table. 

_Home_. 

They head into the bedroom, flicking on the light, dragging their suitcases against the wall. The queen sized bed has about half as many pillows as downstairs, but there’s still more than enough. 

“God, I’m so glad we don’t have to trade this in for two twins,” Richie muses. 

Eddie laughs and pulls him into a kiss. 

Chili can wait a few more minutes. 

  
  


The next few days are absolute bliss, in Eddie’s opinion. Sure they have to find jobs, and Richie has to prepare for school next month, and their cupboards are completely empty. But Beatrice drives them around town, showing them all her favourite spots which include multiple art galleries and restaurants that have live music. They take walks to the beach in the morning, and in the evening she makes them drinks, because she’s the coolest aunt alive apparently. 

“How is she so rich?” Eddie asks one evening, inspecting the bottle of wine she sent upstairs with them to put in their own kitchen. 

“Alimony, to start,” Richie says from where he’s laying on the couch watching TV. “Her ex husband was an asshole, but brought home stacks, so at least she got something out of it. Plus she sells her art. Most of that stuff downstairs is hers, y’know.”

“Wow,” Eddie says. “So now she’s just living her best life?” 

“Yup,” Richie grins. “And so are we.”

Eddie takes the stack of mail from the counter to look through it. He stands in front of the couch while he does. There’s nothing much now, just a letter from Richie’s school about the upcoming semester, a flyer for a pizza place, and — a postcard. Dark blue. _Greetings from Stardust, Las Vegas._

“Rich,” Eddie frowns. “Did you put the return address in the right spot?” 

Richie barely glances up. “Oh. Yeah. That’s for you.”

Eddie frowns. “Me?” He asks. Richie doesn’t answer. He looks down at it, flipping it over in his hands, and reads:

_greetings eddie in the future! this is richie from the past. we’re in vegas right now!! can you believe it? we’ll be in santa cruz tomorrow. derry feels like a century ago, but this trip just flew by. i’m excited for whatever is next but i’m gonna miss this too. you’re standing next to me in the stardust hotel gift shop, and i love you, and i’m not yet brave enough to say it. hopefully i will have said it by the time you read this. but if i haven’t, now you know. you’re standing next to me trying to peek over my shoulder at what i’m writing and i won’t let you see. not yet. but i love you right now in the past, and i love you where you are in the future, and if you read this again fifty years from now i’ll love you then too. i think that maybe it’s the only thing i’ve ever been good at. at least, i hope i’m good at it. i hope you feel loved by me every day you know me. even when i drive you crazy, i hope you remember that there’s no one else i’d rather travel across the country with or stay in one place forever with._

_you’re getting impatient now and i’m running out of space, so i’ll end it here. thanks for coming downstairs with me even though you didn’t want to. thanks for coming to california with me. thanks for being you._

_PS. you look really cute in that shirt._

_love, richie_

Eddie blinks away the tears in his eyes. His chest feels tight and warm reading the words, something spreading through him and filling him up entirely. Hands shaking, he lowers the card to see Richie looking up at him, soft and expectant. 

“You asshole,” he says, voice wobbly. “You made me cry.” 

Richie laughs. He holds out his hands, and Eddie takes them, allowing himself to be pulled down into his chest. Right where he belongs. He buries his face in Richie’s shirt, feeling his tears soak through the fabric. How the hell is he supposed to _handle_ this?

“I’m sorry, baby,” Richie says, amused, carding through his hair. “Sometimes the words just come to you.”

“Cheesy bitch,” Eddie mumbles, sniffling. 

Richie kisses the top of his head, smiling into it. “You love me,” comes the easy reply, just like he’s heard a thousand times before. 

He does. He really, really does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand that’s that folks. except not rly because i will more than likely write oneshots taking place in this universe now? so pls let me know @hippieluna on tumblr what you’d like to see with richie, eddie, dot, and beatrice!!  
> also, i’m planning on writing some of these scenes from richie’s point of view, so if you want a say on which scenes let me know that too! or even if you just have questions about what richie was thinking/feeling in a certain moment etc., i’ve probably thought about it extensively and would love to chat about it. 
> 
> posting this was the most tedious thing i've ever done btw bc the html got all messed up and i had to manually go through and change a bunch, so it took me hours longer than it should have lollll but whatever. hope everyone enjoyed reading itttt and if so it was totally worth it. 
> 
> also fun fact: i came up with the title and the whole vegas scene because i own that exact postcard and one day i was sitting at my desk thinking about this fic and i looked up and saw it and was like. huh. okay we’re rollin with it. 
> 
> thank you for reading/liking/commenting, I very much appreciate it!! xox


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